


A Certain Slant of Light

by agetwellcard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky is the pastor's son, Coming Out, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Religion, Self Confidence Issues, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, and Steve is the punk who loves his mom and goes to church with her after his dad passes away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: Steve first meets Bucky on a Sunday morning. He's instantly intrigued by the new pastor's son with pale blue eyes and a nervous smile.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I've been working on this for what feels like forever. I have literally 15k words of it already written and I just want to start posting it. I'm going to try to work on the description okay. I also don't have much of a religious background, only went to church when I was younger. If anything seems glaringly incorrect feel free to let me know. I also will change the rating/tags as the story progresses. I'm going to try to update once a week. 
> 
> The title is taken from an Emily Dickinson poem.

It’s raining on Sunday morning.

Steve wakes to the crackle of lightning outside his window, the sky still dark as rain starts to patter against his window. He searches blindly for his phone that’s slipped somewhere deep in his sheets as he slept. Eventually, he finds it and clicks the home button, his room lighting up.

It’s not even six yet.

Steve sighs and accepts that he’s going to be awake, scrolling through messages and emails until he finally gets up for a shower. Expectedly, his mother is already awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee steaming in front of her. She’s doodling in a pad of paper and doesn’t even hear Steve creep by to get to the bathroom.

He dresses slowly after the shower. His mother had ironed his button-up the night before, leaving it hung on his doorknob to find when he awoke. Now, he slips the material over his thin, bare shoulders and starts to do up the buttons. Next, he takes out a pair of khakis and steps into them, eventually finding the black belt he always wears with them. He finishes by sloppily putting on the same tie he wears every Sunday, an old thing that he always stumbles with when he puts it on, still remembering the day his father had first taught him.

By the time he’s made his way back out in the kitchen, his mother has dressed and is working on grocery shopping list. She greets Steve with a bland smile and not much else, the two of them working mechanically to get out of the apartment.

It’s still raining, and Steve and his mother hesitate at the door before opening an umbrella and stooping under it together. The rain water drizzles off the side and Steve’s glasses get covered in raindrops as they walk down the busy street. Since his father had passed, Steve always accompanied his mother to church.  

They get onto the subway, and stand quietly near the doors, leaning into each other as the car fills. When they get back up to the street, it’s still raining.

Before walking in, Steve’s mother fixes Steve’s tie and then smiles at him. It’s small, and not overwhelming with happiness, but it’s enough.

The service is slow. It always is. Steve’s never gotten anything from church, but his mother does. Before his father’s death, he’d usually find some excuse to get out of being dragged along. Now, though, the way his mother practically begged him to come with her the first Sunday morning he was gone haunts Steve. Without question, he comes.

At the end, Steve’s mother wants to stick around. Steve dutifully follows her around, shaking hands and smiling at people he barely knows. Eventually, they find their way to the pastor. Mr. Barnes is new, only having done two services since replacing their last pastor. He’s old and graying and watery eyed as he gives Steve’s mother a smile. Beside him are who Steve can only assume are his children, a boy that looks around Steve’s age and a few younger girls.

Steve shakes the pastor’s hand and then the son’s, their eyes meeting briefly as he introduces himself as James. He seems shy, with the way that he quickly retracts his hands and fiddles with his tie before finally putting them away in his pocket. Mr. Barnes talks, but Steve keeps glancing over to his son who’s listening along intently.

Admittedly, Steve thinks he’s cute.

It has to be some awful irony that Steve could possibly have a crush on the pastor’s son.

***

Bucky flicks along in his copy of the Bible as his father speaks, his fingers working automatically. Page to Psalms, then back to Leviticus, then skip ahead to Amos. His father likes the Old Testament. When he’s three sheets to the wind, he’ll recite verses of Ezekiel with a gravelly voice just to see if Bucky will flinch when he says, “The end has come.”

Besides the careful way he follows along, head automatically nodding when everyone else does and fingers deftly paging to the correct verse, he’s thinking of something else.

Bucky had slipped away before the service began, leaning against the brick building as he finished his coffee in the chill morning air. On his way back to his spot in the pews, he had spotted Steve.

Now, he thinks of his angular shoulders and his gaunt face, blue eyes scanning the room absently as he followed his mother. His tie had been crooked, like he had thrown it on quickly. Bucky had told himself he had to stop staring, but he didn’t, and he only looked away when Steve met his eyes. Before there could be any sort of silent exchange from across the room, Bucky quickly shot his eyes away and hurried to his seat.

Bucky thinks of Steve as he pretends to follow along in the text. He’s heard of Steve. It wasn’t until after he met him that Bucky had asked one of the girls who had been his unofficial “welcoming team” at the church about him.

She had scrunched up her nose and said, “I’d stay away from him.”

Another one of the girls had nodded along. “He’s always coming in on Sunday’s with black eyes and dirty clothes. One time, he even started yelling at the last pastor in front of everyone after a service.”

“What about?” Bucky had asked, trying to act like he didn’t care.

“Something about gay rights,” the first girl said, rolling her eyes. Bucky had felt his heart rate grow faster, but swallowed down his nervousness. “He’s so showy about being gay. Always has to make a big deal out of everything because he thinks he’s special.”

Bucky had stared down at his lap and hummed, “Oh.” Quickly, the conversation had changed, but Bucky’s mind had been on Steve all day after that.

Now, he tries desperately to get him out of his mind. He doesn’t even know Steve, and it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t.

The services ends sooner than Bucky expects, and he’s feeling lost as he watches everyone stand from the pews. Dutifully, he goes to stand by his father’s side, his copy of the Bible tucked under his arm. His mother idly runs a hand through Bucky’s hair, making a reprimanding noise.

“You need to get a hair cut again,” she tells him, frowning at his head.

Bucky self-consciously bows his head, moving away from his mother’s touch. He had been hoping she wouldn’t notice. “It’s fine,” he tells her quietly.

“Tomorrow,” she tells him sternly. She softens the blow, though, smiling gently at him. “I’ll even give you the money.”

Bucky sighs and looks away, resisting the urge to run his hands through his hair. It was just getting long enough for Bucky to notice the slight curls after letting his hair dry from the shower.

There is a long line of people who wants to chat with Bucky’s father, and Bucky is forced into the conversations, shaking hands with people he’s supposed to remember from the past few weeks. They all blend together, though, and Bucky finds himself spacing off, absently staring at his mother and Rebecca as they talk to a swarm of girls, some that Bucky recognizes.

Bucky is nervous that Steve and his mother are going to come over again. It’s irrational and probably stupid, but Bucky decides to make his escape, just in case they do come over. Quietly, he excuses himself to the bathroom and slips out of the room. He easily slides through the crowd, no one recognizing him or stopping him for a talk.

The bathroom door squeaks when he pushes it open. He’s expecting for it to be empty, so he’s surprised when he sees a familiar face at the sink. It’s Steve, his blond bangs slipping into his eyes as he turns off the faucet and reaches for a paper towel. Bucky wants to turn around and run away, but then Steve turns around to leave and spots Bucky.

“Hey,” Steve says, smiling a little. “James, right?”

It takes Bucky a few seconds for him to finally nod. Stupidly, he adds, “You’re Steve.”

Steve’s lips quirk up even more when he hears this, clearly amused. “That’s me,” he says, throwing his paper towel away.

Bucky kind of hates him. He seems so nonchalant and unworried with the way he smirks and the way he stands with his hips cocked. He hates the way that Steve just talks to him instead of ignoring him and going on with his day.

There are a few awkward seconds where Bucky and Steve just stare at each other, but Bucky finally ends it with the way he walks over to the sinks and starts to wash his hands. His movements feel stiff and forced with the knowledge that Steve is still watching him. Bucky dares to look up into the mirror to confirm this, meeting Steve’s eyes for a few brief seconds before darting away.

“So, you’re the pastor’s kid,” Steve says conversationally. When Bucky looks over, he has one hip against the edge of the sink, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a beaten-up leather jacket, pins on one of the lapels that Bucky can’t make sense of. One is a circle with the colors pink, blue, and purple, and the other is simply white with two bright red P’s on it. He doesn’t ask.

Bucky nods his head again.

Steve hums, looking bored. “I always hear this thing that all pastor’s kids are super rebellious because of the way their parents, like, withheld everything from them.”

Bucky frowns at him. He almost wants to tell him that he’s talking to the wrong sibling, but he decides to take the offensive, like he’s always done.

“My parents never withheld anything from me,” he says coldly, disappointment growing in his chest. He had hoped Steve wouldn’t be like some of the guys he went to high school with, and even random strangers he meets now.

“No, that’s not what I – It was a bad joke, sorry,” Steve quickly amends. He seems sincere. “It’s just a stereotype, I guess.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Well, I should get going,” Steve mumbles.

“Okay.”

Steve leaves then, the door swinging after him. Bucky stands where he is and tries not to look in the mirror at his reflection.

***

The sink shines with colors as Steve washes his hands, his paint swirling around the drain as he picks at the dried remains on his hands. He’s been in the studio all day trying to finish up one of his assignments. He probably ended up spending more time going back and forth on color choices, though.

From beside him, Natasha is babbling away. “It’s bullshit because I told him – I swear, Steve, I told him twenty times – I said ‘Clint, don’t you dare do it’ and what does he do?”

Steve only then realizes she’s waiting for his response. “He did it?”

“He did!” she complains, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not going to lie, Nat,” Steve admits. “I only heard the end of that. What did he end up doing?”

Natasha glares for a few seconds. “He got another pizza. He ate an _entire_ pizza and then ordered another one.”

Steve scoffs. “That must be really hard for you.”

“It is. When he throws up, who will have to clean the bathroom?” She waits, but Steve only rolls his eyes. “It’s me. I’ll have to.”

“Shouldn’t you have a final to be studying for?” Steve asks, unimpressed by Natasha’s story.

She sighs. “Don’t remind me. Why do you think I’m procrastinating talking to you?”

“Well, go find someone else to procrastinate with because I’m leaving,” Steve tells her. “I’m leaving and never coming back.”

Natasha smirks. “Until tomorrow.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

Steve packs up his things and pulls on his jacket before smiling goodbye to Natasha, who only yells at him to, “Put on a real coat; your tiny body’s gonna freeze out there,” to which Steve had promptly flipped her off over his shoulder.

He heads for the front of the building, mostly hoping that there won’t be a line at the Starbucks by the admission’s office, when he realizes he knows the guy walking a few feet away. It takes him a few seconds for his brain to supply how he knows him, but when he does, he heads for him.

“James!” he shouts, waving his hand until he looks in Steve’s direction. James seems genuinely embarrassed to be seen by Steve, but it doesn’t stop him from walking closer.

He’s dressed differently than when Steve sees him in on Sundays. Instead of the crisp button-up and black slacks, he’s got on loose, dark wash jeans and a bulky knit sweater under a thick winter jacket. Something about him looks slightly different, though, and Steve stares, undignified, for a few seconds until it dawns on him.

“You got a hair cut!” he says once they’re close enough to talk.

James sheepishly runs a hand through his hair and makes a face. “Yeah.”

“It looks nice. I like it,” Steve says. Before James can even respond, Steve motions to his backpack and asks, “Do you go here?”

James shakes his head. “Uh, no. Not right now. I’m thinking of transferring – maybe.”  

“ _Maybe_?” Steve smiles. “Where do you go now?”

“I don’t. Before we moved I went to a school in Indiana. We moved pretty short notice.”

“Oh. Well, this is a pretty good school. I mean, it’s soul crushing and pretty much all the teachers write their own textbooks and make you buy them for ridiculous prices, but…it’s a pretty good college as far as soul crushing colleges go.”

James actually smiles when he hears this, the corners of his lips lifting happily in a way that Steve hasn’t witnessed yet. And, if Steve thought he was cute before, he definitely does now. He was kind of weird, especially with the way he was acting so sketchy and barley making eye contact with Steve, but Steve thought that tiny hint of a smile made up for it.

“Right,” James hums.

“What major are you interested in?”

James opens his mouth, a hesitant look on his face as he scrambles for a few seconds, until he shrugs his shoulder and quietly says, “Dunno yet.”

“Cool, well, if you want to know anything you can ask me,” Steve offers. “I’m a fine arts major, but I have a lot of friends here who are in different majors.”

“Thanks,” James says. He seems surprised by the offer, but Steve doesn’t say anything about it.

They stare at each other for a few uncomfortable beats before Steve nods his head. “Okay, I should probably leave you to it. You know where the office is?” James shakes his head, a blush on his cheeks. “It’s just over here to your right.”

Steve still wants to go to the Starbucks in that direction so he follows along with James, the two of them silent. Steve rarely feels awkward anymore, but for a few seconds, he does. Maybe it’s because of how quiet James is, or because of the slight guilt Steve has for having a crush on the pastor’s son.

He’s surprised, though, when James stops Steve and quickly says, “Hey, can you not tell anyone about this?”

It’s a strange request, and Steve almost actually asks him why, but instead he nods his head. “Sure, yeah, no problem.”

James seems relieved by this and then sends him a quick smile before departing.


	2. Chapter 2

When Bucky leaves the campus, he throws out all the papers that the admission’s office gave him but one. All of the glossy, card-stock paper folds poorly as he tries to slot it through an already over-full trash can at the subway station. A part of him aches in the process, but there’s another childish part of him that is scared to confront all the information with his parents if they came across the papers in his room.

Instead, Bucky keeps just one sheet of paper that seems the most important, and folds it four times and sticks it in the pages of an old novel in his backpack.

Bucky fusses with his metro card when he tries to scan it and backs the line up for a few seconds until it glows green and lets him pass. The subway is still mostly a mystery to Bucky, but he’s been getting better at it. Something about the moment when his card wouldn’t go through stays with him, though, only putting a damper on the half-high, half-sick feeling he’s had since he left the campus.

He doesn’t waste much time replaying the moment, though, since his mind is already racing with the past hour’s events. He snags a spot in the back of the car and runs a hand over his shortly-cropped hair.

Steve had said it look _nice_.

 _Nice_ – it’s just what people say. Bucky knows that, and yet, he nearly smiles thinking of the moment. Despite their interaction in the bathroom, Steve is nice. He’s warm and relaxed and always smiling. He barely knows Bucky and is offering to help him out.

Bucky spends the rest of his journey home with his head against the back of the seat in some sort of fantasy where he actually enrolls at Steve’s college, and Steve shows him around and introduces him to his friends. It could be nice.

With a dumb grin, he thinks, _Steve’s an artist_.

The fantasy dissolves completely when he gets home, finding his family talking loudly in the kitchen. His mother is at the stovetop, a smile on her lips as she works on dinner. His father and sisters are already at the table chatting. When they realize Bucky’s home, they look at him.

“How did it go?” his mother asks, hopeful expression on his face.

Bucky stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries his best to act embarrassed. Mostly, he thinks about his run in with Steve and it does the trick. “Not well,” he says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kind of took the wrong subway and practically ended up in the Bronx.”

His mother makes a sympathetic noise, the girls laugh at him, but his father only gives him a hard look that Bucky can barely even meet.

“You’ll go again tomorrow,” his father tells him, gruff even though he had just been smiling and laughing with the girls. “If I would’ve known it would be such a difficulty for you to get there, I would’ve come with you.”

“It was an accident,” Bucky says. “I’ll be more careful tomorrow. You don’t need to come with me.”

The last thing Bucky needs is a trip to the college of Bucky’s parents choosing, the best college in New York City for prelaw, with his father. He feels a headache coming on just at the thought.

“I can’t, anyways,” he grumbles. “I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. You would too if you’d get a job.”

Bucky feels his hands curl into fists. “I’m waiting on an interview.”

“They’ll call you back,” his mother interjects quickly with a hopeful smile.

He drops his backpack off in his room, glancing at it for a few seconds before returning to have dinner with his family. It’s a short meal, and Bucky spends most of it picking at his food before he realizes what he’s doing and finishes at least half of it. The girls talk about their new schools and their new friends, and Bucky listens, happy to know that they’re doing well since they’ve moved.

Out of all of them, Rebecca had been the one who wanted to leave the least. She had cried about it for weeks until they moved, and cried even more when they first stepped into their small apartment. She was in the middle of her last year of high school when they moved. She seems happy now, rattling off the names of her new friends.

When they’re excused, Bucky stands beside his mother and helps her wash the dishes. They work in silence, Bucky’s mother handing him wet plates so he can dry. When they finish, she dries her hands and turns to him.

“You look so much better when it’s short,” she tells him.

“Thanks.”

His mother sighs. “Do you not like it here? I know it’s different, but me and your father grew up here, and we wanted to give you the chance to live here, too.”

Bucky nods his head. “It’s fine.”

“If you’re nervous about tomorrow, you shouldn’t be,” his mother says. “I’m sure they’ll love you and want you to go to their school.”

Bucky had never been worried about that. He had great grades and even better recommendation letters. What he was more worried about was that they’d accept him and he’d half to finish another two years of prelaw before actually having to go to law school.

When he can, Bucky scurries off to his room and lies on his bed for a few minutes. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to imagine himself at law school. He has four thick books (all gifts on Christmas or birthdays) full of LSAT study questions. He’s spent countless hours studying, and knows it’s only a matter of time until he should schedule an appointment to take it.

Instead of studying, Bucky opens up his laptop and clicks onto Google. There, he types in _Steve Rogers_. Instantly, thousands of search results come back. There are too many, and after a few fruitless clicks to Facebook pages, Bucky gives up and shuts his laptop again.

Probably for the best, he thinks.

***

Steve wouldn’t say he made a point to run into James the next Sunday they saw each other, but he kind of did.

When he had walked in with his mother, he had spotted James leaning against the side of the church with a cup of coffee in his hands. He didn’t notice Steve since his eyes were pointed down, but Steve saw him. After making up a thinly disguised excuse, Steve wanders outside and finds James exactly where he last saw him.

He’s looking up now, into the sky, head tipped back against the grimy building.

“Hey,” Steve says as he walks up. He’s slightly amused by the way the way that James jerks to attention, nearly dropping his cup of coffee.

When he realizes who it is, James gives him a tight smile. “Oh, hi.”

Their interaction at the school had been stuck in Steve’s head since it happened. He wasn’t sure that James even liked him, but a part of Steve at least hoped that he was too shy to make the first move. Steve was fine making the first move, whether it be a friendship or a relationship or something in-between. He’s been rejected enough, and now he’d rather get it over with quick.

Steve almost expects a pile of cigarettes at his feet, but there are none.

“Thought you were out here smoking,” Steve tells him with a smile.

“No, I don’t,” James says quickly. Then, “Why? Do you?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not really. Sometimes pot if I spend too much time around my friend Clint, if you count that.”

James lifts his eyebrows in surprise but says nothing.

“So, what are you doing out here then?” Steve asks.

“It’s kind of warm inside. Like it better out here. Quieter.”

They’re on a busy street in Brooklyn.

Steve snorts. “Quieter?” Ironically, just as Steve says it, a siren wails a few blocks over. It makes James actually laugh. One of his front teeth is slightly crooked, and his eyes crinkle in the corner, and Steve is thankful for whatever emergency warranted the siren.

“Maybe not quieter, I guess,” James admits.

They stand in silence for a few minutes, and James takes a sip of his coffee before looking over thoughtfully at Steve before darting his eyes back to the street.

“So, how did your appointment at admissions go?”

James squints for a few seconds before he must realize. “Oh. Yeah, it was okay.”

“Did you decide then?” Steve asks, only to met with a confused expression. “Which major you want to go for?”

James make a face and is silent for a few awkward seconds. “Architecture.”

“Oh, shit, really?” He didn’t know what to expect from James, but that wasn’t it. It seems fitting, though, despite the fact that Steve really doesn’t know that much about the guy. “That’s cool. I’ve heard our program is actually half-decent.”

“Yeah?” He has a small smile on his face that drops quick, something dark taking over. “I would basically have to start all over again.”

“What did you take before? In Indiana?”

“Pre-law.”

Steve hums in surprise. “Jesus, yeah. It would be a little different.” James makes another grim face and Steve can’t bear it anymore. He almost feels bad for even bringing it up. “I know someone in the program. Do you want to give me your number? I can ask him some stuff for you.” Then, quickly, Steve tacks on, “If you wanted.”

James is frozen for a few seconds before nods his head a few times. “Yeah, sure. That’d be helpful.”

“Here,” Steve says, digging through his pocket before pulling out his phone and passing it over to James on a new contact page. When he hands it back, Steve is surprised to see the new contact under _Bucky_ instead of James.  “Bucky?”

“It’s a nickname,” he says quickly, face suddenly red. “Sorry, didn’t think about it. No one really calls me James besides my parents.”

“Shit. You should have told me sooner. I hate when people call me Steven. I feel like I’m getting in trouble or something.”

Bucky smiles. “Same.”

They stay like that for a few more seconds before they look over at a family with a few small children that loudly head in for the service. Bucky sighs and then goes, “We should probably get in.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, probably.” And then, “Here, I’ll send you a message so that you have my number too.” After sending it, he follows after Bucky. The two of them walk side by side, but Steve can sense that Bucky is suddenly more on edge than before. He wonders if it’s him, or if it’s just the church. There had to be some reason he had escaped outside.

He doesn’t look at Steve before he heads to the front and leaves Steve in the fourth row. He tries not to think too hard about it before rejoining his mother. She’s staring blankly ahead, thumb rubbing her Bible’s cover. Steve sits next to her and murmurs that he’s back, even if he she barley seemed to have registered his disappearance.

After a few minutes, Steve asks, “Do you like the new pastor?”

His mother looks over and nods. “He seems fine.”

***

Bucky stares at his phone at the single message from Steve. 

It just said “it’s steve”. He had sent it when Bucky had programed his number into Steve’s phone. It really isn’t anything, but Bucky can’t stop thinking that maybe he should reply. He tries to think up any questions he would have about the school, but Bucky doesn’t want to even pretend he’ll end up there.

He had gone to the meeting with the school his parents want him to go to, and wasn’t even surprised to hear them all but offer him a place for the next semester. He had left the meeting and holed up in a café just off of campus and scrolled through apartment listings only to realize there was no way he was going to support himself enough to pay rent and go to school.

When his parents had asked him how it went, he had acted as if he wasn’t sure they would let him. It was dishonest, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel as bad as he should.

Now, he holds tightly to his younger sister’s hand as they venture through a crowded Christmas market. His parents had thought it would be a fun weekend trip into Manhattan, but all its managed to be is crowded and uncomfortable. Bucky waits in line behind his mother as she orders some food for the girls and looks over to Bucky to inquire if he wants anything. He shakes his head.

They can’t find a place to sit all together, so they split apart and stand in one of the less crowded areas and eat. Bucky loses the string of the conversation as he stares down at his phone, trying to think of a reason he could text Steve and start a conversation.

It’s ridiculous, even he knows it. It’s not even like Steve is his friend. He was just being nice and helping Bucky out because he’s new and he’s his pastor’s son. Unfortunately, this line of reasoning doesn’t stop Bucky from staring at the empty message field and trying to decide if he should just send something, _anything_.

Rebecca interrupts him, though, before he can even think of anything remotely intelligent to send Steve. “Who are you texting? Your girlfriend? Tell her I said hi,” she says, pitch just low enough for their parents to not here, thankfully.

Bucky gives her an unimpressed look. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Clearly,” she hums. “Which is why you should come to a party with me this weekend. Could be good for you to, I don’t know, get out there.”

He decides to bite his tongue and not say the obvious. Although it wasn’t all because of Rebecca, one of the main factors of moving was her. One wrong crowd of friends had changed her completely. Bucky didn’t mind that she was having her own experiences that weren’t patrolled by her parents or someone from the church, but she was still a senior in high school. After she got arrested for underage drinking, he wasn’t so sure.

He should probably say something, and try to bestow upon some brotherly advice, but she’ll know it’s all bullshit. Bucky never went through whatever phase Rebecca is in.

“I don’t think it would be very appropriate for me to party with a bunch of high schoolers, Bec.”

She scoffs. “They’re not in high school. I got invited by this guy that goes to one of the colleges in Manhattan. Probably your future peers.”

“ _What_?” Bucky exclaims. “You’re _seventeen_. Does he even know that?”

“The age of consent is seventeen here, Buck.”

He runs a hand through his hair, knowing he can’t get too upset with his parents and younger sisters only a few feet away. “Fine. I’ll go. As a _chaperone_.”

Rebecca seems weirdly smug about this, but he’s mostly relieved that she even told him about it. He’ll sleep a little better knowing that she isn’t sneaking around at college parties alone. He’s not looking forward to the party, but it could at least be a good excuse to get out of the apartment for the night.

Rebecca starts talking about the guy she met who invited her to the party, and Bucky only half-listens and tries not to look down at his phone too often. He decides not to send Steve a message, or at least for now.


	3. Chapter 3

Admittedly, Bucky hasn’t been to that many parties.

He had been to a few during his freshmen year because it had seemed like a rite of passage, especially when his friends had dragged him out with the pretense of studying only to ditch their backpacks in the backseat of someone’s car to go to a house party.

He’s never been to a party quite like this one, though. The apartment they’re in is lavishly furnished, and also currently being destroyed by the rowdy party. Bucky doesn’t know who is throwing the party, or which college all these people go to, or even if they _do_ go to college. They all seem around his age, though, so it seems promising this isn’t as sketchy as it had first felt walking in.

Rebecca instantly starts drinking, and despite the well-meaning looks that Bucky is giving her, she isn’t slowing down. Instead, she pours an excessive amount of vodka into her drink before offering to mix Bucky something. Bucky shakes his head, but he does snag a beer and knows that it’ll be the only one he’s drinking all night.

Rebecca seems perfectly comfortable mingling with people that she doesn’t even know, and works her way into conversations seamlessly. Bucky hovers for a few minutes until it’s obvious that she’s waiting for him to leave her alone, so he back off, only to find a wall to lean against a few feet away.

He sips his beer and feels utterly stupid. What did he think he was going to do all night? _Feel miserable_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully. He can’t bring himself to just join a conversation, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know where to start. So, instead, he leans against the wall and keeps an eye on Rebecca, most likely looking creepy.

Eventually, a blond-haired girl comes to talk to him, seemingly interested by the faux-enigmatic aura he’s giving off. She’s got a loud laugh, and if Bucky had to guess, she’s pretty drunk, but he doesn’t mind. It gives him some sort of a twisted self-confidence boost.

They talk for a while, Bucky still glancing over to Rebecca every so often to find her sitting closely with a guy around Bucky’s age. Instantly, Bucky doesn’t like the look of him.

It turns out to be a fair accusation, since after less than twenty minutes of talking to the blond girl (who still hasn’t offered her name), the guy is getting handsy with Rebecca. She looks to be declining his touches politely, but he doesn’t stop, only pulling her closer so that she’s nearly in his lap. He has her arms wrapped around her, and it’s then that she starts to try to pull away, looking more agitated than before.

Bucky quickly apologizes to the girl he’s been talking to and rushes over to Rebecca. She’s still struggling, and nobody around them seems to be concerned except for Bucky.

“Stop fucking touching her,” Bucky hisses once he’s in front of them.

Rebecca looks vaguely mortified, but appreciative of the surprised silence that follows, granting her enough time to slip out of his arms. She shies behind Bucky as the guy stands menacingly. He’s a little taller than Bucky, and definitely more muscular. Worse, he’s clearly slightly inebriated.

“I don’t really think this concerns you,” he says, taking a threatening step closer.

“It does. I’m her brother and I’m not going to let some creep ruin her night.”

It’s enough for the guy to seem even angrier than before, and then he takes another step closer and pushes Bucky back, stumbling into Rebecca before he can get enough leverage to send him barreling forward to punch the guy.

Things start to unravel here.

Bucky once took a self-defense course at his church, and he remembers learning the proper way to ball his fist and the way to stand so it’s the most effective. This all goes out the window when he punches the guy, only his adrenaline motivating him. He clearly never learned much in the class because the guy is nearly twice as fast as Bucky and gives a much better punch to his face.

The fight is over quick, someone pulling the guy away from Bucky, and Rebecca yelling something as she helplessly grabs at Bucky’s sleeve. He can feel his nose bleeding, and his head is already pounding, and he’s having trouble standing straight, but he still manages to snarl at the guy who is shouting something that Bucky can’t even hear over the chaos in the room.

“I swear to god, guys,” someone else is saying, a guy with brown hair and ridiculous facial hair. “Can I throw _one_ party without a fistfight?”

He takes one look at Bucky and frowns. “Someone has to stop inviting Brock.” He holds out his hand to Bucky, but then retracts it when he realizes that his hands are still balled into fists. “I’m Tony, and this apartment – “ he whirls his pointer finger around in a circle. “—Is mine. Therefore, I don’t really want your blood staining the carpet. I do like your panache, though, so I’ll help you out.”

Bucky can’t even form words to reply with. He can only stare at him, open-mouthed and shocked. Tony beckons him to follow, and Bucky does wordlessly, Rebecca at his heels.

 “This is the bathroom,” Tony says, opening the door and turning on the light. “I’m kinda stoned right now and don’t know anything about first aid, but I actually know a guy. I’ll be right back.”

Bucky leans forward in the mirror and cringes as he catches a glimpse of his already swelling eye and the split lip that has blood running down his chin. He leans his head towards the mirror and tries to gingerly touch it, only to flinch away and mutter out a few curses.

“I’m sorry, okay,” Becca says from the doorway. “I’ll tell Mom and Dad it’s my fault, don’t worry. I’ll – “

“It’s fine. You’re fine, so it’s fine.”

The last thing he wants to think about is what his parents will say about his face, or what kind of an excuse he could ever make up about this. He’s still thrumming with adrenaline and relief of his sister standing next to him mostly unharmed except for a ruined night.

“Do you think we should go to the hospital?” Becca says, looking into the mirror next to Bucky. Her makeup is smeared and he can even see the dark trails of her mascara over her cheeks. She’s watching Bucky carefully, clearly concerned.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine, I just need to – “

“Here he is, dude,” Tony says, appearing at the doorway with his arm around the shoulder of a blond haired man. “This guy has been beaten up more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Bucky and Steve blink at each other for a few very long seconds until he finally shakes out of Tony’s grip and says, “Jesus, Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever felt as stupid and mortified as he does in this moment. The last person he wanted to see here was _Steve Rogers_. He looks good, too. He’s dressed in the same leather jacket as always, but his hair seems to be more carefully done and his pants have unequal rips in the knees that give him a cool and distressed look. Bucky, on the other hand, wants to run away in sheer embarrassment over how horrible he looks. Suddenly, he severely regrets the ugly and unfashionable sweater he had picked out after meticulously combing through his wardrobe. That doesn’t even seem that horrible in comparison to his face, bloody and bruised and clearly the face of someone who _hasn’t_ won a fight.

“You know each other?” Tony says, clearly disappointed. “Shouldn’t even be surprised. Is there, like, fighting at parties anonymous meetings you guys go to together?”

Becca is looking between the two of them with a strange expression on her face, but doesn’t say anything. When Steve notices, he holds out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Steve.” She stares at it for a few seconds, but doesn’t actually shake his hand. Instead, she makes a face and pulls out her phone, leaning against the bathroom wall to type something furiously on the screen.

Steve slowly retracts his hand, and it’s then that Bucky realizes he has a backpack in his grip, presumably his own. Just as he starts to unzip it, Tony chirps in with, “Like I was saying, Steve gets beat up all the time. Practically a pro. That’s why he’s always prepared. Listen, I’ve seen this kid get the shit beaten out of him so many fucking times. Like, at least – “

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve says sharply, actually looking at touch embarrassed. “Can you go get some ice?”

He gives a sloppy salute and then disappears. Steve sighs loudly and procures a small first aid kit from the depths of his backpack. Once he opens it and wets a washcloth, he walks to stand in front of Bucky, only for Bucky to realize just how short Steve is. Awkwardly, Bucky sits on the closed toilet and lets Steve stand between his open legs. He feels a little like he can’t breathe because of how close Steve is to him, but also because of the way he inspects Bucky’s face.

“It’s not that bad,” Steve tells him quietly. He smiles when he asks, “Do I even want to know what the other guy looks like?”

Bucky wants to smile, he really does, but he still feels so stupid that all he can do is stare despondently behind Steve’s shoulder and shrug.

“Brock is a fucking douche bag,” Steve tells him knowingly. Bucky squints at him, surprised he knows the man. “Trust me, you’re not the first guy to throw a punch at him. Or girl, for that matter.”

It doesn’t make Bucky feel particularly better, but he feels slightly less scrutinized under Steve’s gaze. Carefully, Steve presses the warm washcloth to Bucky’s face to clean up some of the blood. The touch nearly unravels Bucky, and sends his heart racing with an unexpected emotional response. His parents had never been overly touchy growing up, so most touches from people have left Bucky startled and unnerved, but the way Steve touches him is so careful and caring that Bucky is embarrassed even more.

Once Bucky’s lip has stopped bleeding, Steve takes out a petite tube of what looks like antiseptic. “Do you mind if I use my finger?” he asks, already unscrewing the tap.

Bucky doesn’t trust his mouth to work so he just shakes his head, jaw clenching when Steve first touches his lip. It stings, but most of the pain is ignored in favor of the burning anxiety and adrenaline coming from Steve’s touch.

It’s pathetic, Bucky knows.

Abruptly, Rebecca asks, “How do you two know each other?”

Bucky startles back and away from Steve’s touch. Steve bends slightly to look over at Rebecca. “I go to your church.” He looks back to Bucky to touch his finger once more to Bucky’s lip and then move away to rinse his hands at the sink. “I’ve actually met you before.”

“Oh,” Rebecca says, clipped.

“I don’t think Tony is coming back with that ice,” Steve says to me now. “You should probably get some soon, though. It’ll help with the swelling. Did you guys need me to call you an Uber?”

“No,” Bucky says quickly. “We’re fine. Thank you, though. For all your help. And…yeah. Thanks.”

Steve gives him a strange look, but it disappears quickly, replaced with an easy-going smile. Rebecca, who is huffy about leaving, makes a show of leaving the room and yelling at Bucky to hurry up.

“I hope you feel better,” Steve tells him.

It’s something people say, especially to people with a face like Bucky’s, but somehow he manages to feel incredibly warm by the words. He mumbles out one last shaky thank you before chasing after Rebecca. Outside, it’s cold and damp and Rebecca is already on her phone getting a ride.

She’s suspiciously quiet in the car, and Bucky expects her to ask him about Steve, but she doesn’t. Instead, he’s surprised when she reaches over to grab Bucky’s hand.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Bucky swallows thickly.

“We’ll tell mom and dad you got mugged,” she says. “It’s New York City, everyone gets mugged.”

It’s sounds like an easy excuse. He almost feels bad at the thought of lying to them, but then he realizes that he’s been lying to them for a while now. He squeezes her hand, and the driver gets closer to their street.

When they get in, Rebecca is quiet when she closes the door into the frame. It’s all in vain, though, since the kitchen light is still on, and their father is quick to catch them standing untying their shoes together.

“Where have you two been?”

Rebecca intercepts before Bucky can think of anything to say. “We were hungry. Got some food.”

“At midnight?” he accuses. He steps closer, only to notice Bucky’s face. He already knows there is dried blood on the collar of his sweater. “What happened to you?”

“We were mugged,” Rebecca tells him. “I was lucky to have Bucky there.”

It’s obvious it’s a lie. It would’ve sounded more believable in the morning, when Rebecca was in a pair of clean pajamas and not the short, tight dress she was wearing now, makeup still flaking on her cheeks.

“Go to bed, Rebecca,” his father says. She does as she’s told, leaving the two of them standing there alone. She sends Bucky a worried, apologetic look over her shoulders. Bucky swallows thickly. “James, I want you up early tomorrow. Don’t think you’re getting out of church just because of your face. You’re going to start helping me out around there. Every day, until you get a job or start school. You understand?”

There’s nothing he can say, so Bucky just nods his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_ **

Steve is surprised to see Bucky at church on Sunday morning.

The night before, the guy had been bleeding all over Tony’s bathroom. Now, he’s sitting at the front of the sanctuary with his head bowed. Even from a few rows back, Steve can still see the bruise on his cheek bone, shiny and obvious on his pale skin.

Even Steve, who has grown used to the quiet murmurs of rumors in the church, is surprised to hear a whole slew of theories on how Bucky had managed to get the injuries, each one more bizarre than the last. Oddly, none of them seem to suspect that Bucky had been fighting.

Steve hopes for even a glimpse of eye contact from Bucky before he goes back to the apartment with his mother. Instead, Bucky seems even more closed off than usual, probably embarrassed, as he sticks close to his family with his head still bowed.

He tries to spend the next few days banishing away the frequent thoughts of Bucky. The night before had been strange and left Steve feeling even stupider for his miniscule, barely-there crush on Bucky. He had a pretty face, and up close, despite the blood, it was even prettier. Steve was happy to patch him up, especially knowing how many times Steve had to do it himself over the years. It was harder, though, when it only lead to Steve realizing just how attracted to Bucky he was.

Though, to be honest, he’s not sure if it’s Bucky or the fact that he actually got into a fistfight at one of Tony’s parties. Admittedly, it’s kind of a page from Steve’s book.

Either way, he tells himself that he needs to distance himself from the thoughts. There is, in Steve’s opinion, at least a two-percent chance that Bucky is actually into guys, and that’s if Steve is lucky.

Now that winter break has started and Steve doesn’t have to concentrate on banal text book readings and asinine assignments, he’s free to work on his own art and hang out with friends. He also even has time to find convenient, uncomplicated sex with random people he meets on dating apps. It’s easier if he just forgets about Bucky’s dark eyes.

Steve’s never been entirely disciplined, though, and it’s only worsened when, out of the blue, he gets a text from Bucky.

_Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometimes._

Steve stares at the text for at least a full minute before breaking out into a stupid smile. Sam is with him when it comes in, the two of them lounging in Sam’s shit apartment with an episode of Cutthroat Kitchen playing in the background.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Sam says instantly. “That smile is never something good.”

Steve makes a huffy sound. “It _is_ good! I think I just got asked out on a date.”

 “What? Is your grandma back in town for breakfast?”

“Fuck you,” Steve says easily. “It’s that guy from Tony’s party. He wants to get coffee.”

Sam scoffs. “The guy that Brock beat the shit out of.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad, really. He didn’t even break anything.”

Just then, Steve’s phone buzzes with a new text.

_I just had some questions about the school and wanted to thank you for the other night. If you’re busy, I understand._

Although well meaning, the text actually makes Steve sigh and drop his phone back into his lap.

“Did he cancel already?” Sam asks.

“It’s definitely _not_ a date. He’s a good guy, really. He’s thinking about going to my college, but I think might’ve been being a little hopeful when I assumed he _wanted to get coffee_.”

“You’ve got to stop assuming that every guy you meet is gay, Steve.”

He sighs. “It’s sometimes true, okay.”

Since Steve has no real self-preservation he responds right away.

_Yeah, definitely! When are you free?_

His phone vibrates with a message from Bucky after a few minutes.

_What are you doing now?_

“Oh shit,” Steve mutters. “How does my hair look? Do you think this shirt smells bad?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You aren’t actually meeting up with him today are you?”

“Why not?” Steve opens up the front facing camera on his phone and runs a hand through his hair. “Probably as good as it’s going to get.”

“Steve,” Sam says now, voice serious. “Please don’t get too attached again. Read the signs. If he’s not into it, too, then it might be better not to get too deep.”

He’s speaking from experience. The experience mostly being Steve crying on his shoulder for nearly a week when a guy a few months ago flat out refused to see Steve anymore because Steve had told him how he felt.

“I’ll read the signs,” Steve repeats, knowing it’s useless. He’s never been good at that.

Steve is already half out the door when he hears Sam sarcastically go, “Thanks for having me over, Sam. See you later.”

He quickly pulls up the directions on his phone to get to the coffee shop, but realizes a few turns in that he already knows where it is. He ends up getting their before Bucky, and orders a cup of hot chocolate and perches in one of the seats facing the street.

When he first catches sight of Bucky walking down the street, he’s hunched in on himself, hands deep in the pockets of his black wool coat that goes all the way down to his knees. Despite his stance, he still looks intimidating with the bruises shining on his face. He looks up to the top of the building, and then starts to approach the door, only to catch Steve’s gaze in the glass.

Steve smiles and gives him a curt wave before Bucky breaks into a smile of his own, teeth white and straight as he nearly runs into the door that someone’s just opened. He stumbles slightly, and there is a quick exchange between the man and Bucky before Bucky ambles inside, face red, most likely not just from the cold.

“Hey,” Steve greets him, standing up from his seat and grabbing his drink and coat. “Did you want to order something?”

Bucky takes a quick glance over to the menu board and then back to Steve. “Yeah, um, yes.”

“I’m just going to go sit at one of the tables then.”

Steve makes his way over to the small circular table in the corner of the room and hangs his jacket from the back of the chair and waits for Bucky. He cranes his head slightly to catch him biting the side of his mouth as he mulls over the menu. When he steps forward to order, he smiles warmly at the man working the register and pulls out a few dollars from his wallet.

When he returns, he’s got a mug that’s steaming in his hands. He sets it down on the table carefully and then slips off his coat and backpack.

“Your face looks good,” Steve tells him.

Bucky falters slightly as he tries for the second time to get his backpack to hang on the back of the chair without falling. He glances at Steve with a confused expression on his face.

Steve points at his own cheekbone. “You know, the bruises. Seems like they’re healing well.”

“Oh,” Bucky says quickly, finally giving up hope on his backpack and just dropping it on the ground next to his feet. “Yeah, it hurts a lot less.”

“That’s good. How is your sister doing?”

Bucky purses his lips and then looks down to his cup. “She’s fine. Better. I actually wanted to see you so I could thank you for that night. I’m sorry if she was rude to you, it was just a long night for her. And sometimes she can get – “

“Jesus, Bucky, I get it. You don’t need to apologize for her.” Then, quickly, he adds, “Not that she’d need to, either. I get it.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “But I really do appreciate your help, though. I’ve never really been in that kind of a situation before.”

Steve smiles. “Buddy, that’s a normal Friday night for me.”

Bucky looks up then and actually smiles too, just a hint, and not like before outside. It’s something, though, and Steve warms instantly when he sees it. Bucky stirs his drink in the awkward silence that follows their exchanged smiles.

“So, what did you want to know?” Steve ask then, leaning back in his chair and sipping some of his hot chocolate.

“Uh.” Bucky blinks and makes a face. “Do you know anything about the kind of scholarships they give out?”

“Sort of, but not really. If I’m being honest, almost all of my schooling is being paid for. My dad was in the army, and he never used his money before he passed away, so…”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up, like, a bad – “

“It’s fine,” Steve assures him, waving a hand flippantly, like it really means nothing. “It was a while ago.”

For the most part, it’s true. When Steve first started to understand what had happened, he had gone through a long period of time where it crushed him. Now, he tries to be grateful for the money he has for school, and often times uses it as motivation to at least show up to class when he’s hungover or feeling lazy.

“My dad was army too,” Bucky says quietly, eyes looking around the room. “But I don’t think I’ll have any money from him anymore.”

There’s clearly more to unpack with the way Bucky says it, but Steve is scared to ask. He figures it most likely comes down to the fact that Bucky was doing pre-law before, and now he’s going into architecture. Steve knows a lot of kids at his school that aren’t doing what their parents want for them to be doing.

Natasha’s parents thought she was studying international business for months until they found out that she was really majoring in poetry. They nearly kicked her out for it, but she moved out herself before they could.

“Since it’s a private school, they usually dish out a lot of money,” Steve offers. “Plus, if you had decent grades at your other school, you’ll probably get more.”

Bucky licks his lips and looks down into his coffee. He’s clearly conflicted, and a part of Steve aches to see it. He wishes he could tell him better news.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says then. “I might be wasting your time.”

“Hey, don’t worry. You can always just take out loans like everyone else. It will only take you, like, fifteen years to pay off, but whatever.”

Bucky’s face twists up amusement, some of his despair gone. “Might be my only option.”

“What else did you want to know about the school?” Steve hopes he doesn’t sound like some admissions office recruiter.

They go back and forth for a while, some of the questions leading to Steve telling stories about his first two years, trying and failing not to embarrass himself too much. He was kind of a stupid freshmen, though. It’s worth it to see Bucky smile and then laugh, whole face brightening up, and their space filled with his deep, melodic laugh.

It’s really not doing anything for Steve’s crush.

Eventually, Bucky seems to be at the end of his list of questions. He asks about clubs on campus and Steve has to give him a look.

“I’m probably the worst person to talk to student life with,” he admits. “I had planned to join a bunch of clubs when I started but…I got distracted. And the one club I’m in, I haven’t even showed up to the last few meetings.”

“I wasn’t in any clubs at my last school, either. No time between work and school. What club are you in?”

“LGBT. Pretty standard, but I met most of my friends there in freshman year, so I’m grateful for it.”

Bucky nods a few too many times when he hears this and then clears his throat. “So, you’re…gay?”

It sounds more inquisitive than judgmental, but Steve feels a little caught off guard by the reaction. Bucky is the honest to god preacher’s son, so it would make sense for there to be some prejudice, but Steve wouldn’t expect him to actually judge Steve for it.

Steve still laughs. “No. I’m bisexual.”

“Oh.” His face is slightly red. “Cool. What kind of stuff do you do in the club?”

“Awareness, charities, watch movies together,” he lists off. “Mostly, we just hang out. Sometimes it’s just nice to spend time in a place where it doesn’t feel like anyone is judging you.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Bucky says. Steve wonders if that space is church for him, and that a Sunday sermon is comparable to the feeling Steve gets listening to the members of the club share their experiences.

“There are a bunch of clubs, though, for pretty much anything.”

The conversation doesn’t seem to stop flowing, and they talk for hours without either of them realizing it. It’s only once the sun has gone down, the windows revealing dark streets, that Bucky seems to notice how late it’s getting. He checks the time on his phone and then makes a face.

“I should get going,” he says quietly, like he regrets even saying it. “I really appreciate this. Seriously, it’s more helpful than you think.”

“It’s no problem, really. I like to talking to you.” The words just come out, before Steve can even decide it’s really what he wants to say. It’s not a lie, either. He really does. He’s just not sure that he wanted it to come out so transparent. It must be written all over his face, though, with the soft way he keeps smiling at Bucky and laughing too loud at things he says.

Bucky mumbles out quick, “Same,” as he smiles into the table, fiddling with the mug that’s been empty for hours.

***

It’s snowing when Bucky leaves the café, leaving thick snowflakes on his jacket sleeves. He doesn’t feel cold, though, and instead looks up at the sky and smiles. It’s the most hopeful he’s felt in a long time, and his body is practically radiating with the warmth and happiness that had come from being in Steve’s presence.

He’s a little scared of how hopeful he feels, though, like he knows that it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down into reality. He likes it so far up, and laughs to himself as he walks home, nearly forgetting that it was only a few hours ago that he had walked out of church without a word to his father. He hasn’t checked his phone since he first saw Steve.

The events of the day still seem a little hazy, and more like a fever dream than a real day. His father had him doing random chores around the church, Bucky spending the first half hour in his head, stumbling over everything and running into people as he paced down the hallways. Eventually, he had just pulled out his phone and texted Steve, emboldened by his father’s anger at him and the memory of Steve’s hand pressed against his face.

He didn’t actually think that Steve would take him up on his invitation to get coffee, let alone that Bucky would be brave enough to actually show up. It seemed easier, though, to cover up his moment of insanity with the pretense of finding out about Steve’s college.

He lets himself float as he walks home, refusing to ruin his mood by checking his phone. The caffeine from his drink does nothing but help the jittery feelings in him, the sharp details of Steve’s face still so vivid in his head.

Steve, huffing out a laugh before taking a sip of his hot cholate, delicate fingers slowly ripping apart the cardboard sleeve on his white coffee cup as the night progressed. Steve, listening so intently with bright blue eyes trained on Bucky, only to float away when he laughed or thought of the right words to respond with.

It’s stupid, even Bucky knows. The magnetic pull he feels towards Steve has to be made up or over-exaggerated, but he’s never felt so drawn to a person before.

And Steve is _bisexual_. The thought seems oddly heavy, but it also seems like one of the most important things Steve said to him all night.

When he gets to his apartment, Bucky pauses before putting his key into the lock. It’s past dinnertime already which means the girls are likely all huddled around the table doing homework. Except Rebecca, who is most likely locked in her bedroom. He takes a big breath before heaving the door open.

He’s purposefully quiet when he pulls his key from the lock and closes the door. Even goes as far to toe off his shoes and bend down to hold them as he tiptoes to his bedroom. He can hear the girls and his parents talking quietly from the kitchen, and he has to stick close to the walls in the hopes of sneaking away without any of them seeing him. He’s halfway down the hallway when the bathroom door opens, a strip of light illuminating Bucky, caught red handed by his father.

“There you are,” he says. He’s practically radiating disappointment. “What was so important that you had to leave for? It’s not like you have a class or a job to get to.”

Bucky swallows thickly and avoids eye contact. “I didn’t feel well. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t think to let me know before you disappeared for hours?”

He feels twelve years old in this moment.

“I just – ” He scrambles for something, but he comes up with nothing. “I said I’m sorry.”

His father looks at him sternly. In the light of the florescent bulbs from the bathroom, Bucky can make out the deep hollows of his father’s face, the heavy bags under his eyes, and the frown continuously directed at him.

“James, I know moving here is a big change,” he says quietly, a frightening undertone of anger seeping into what he means to sound calm. “But I don’t understand what’s going on with you, and there’s no excuse for this,” he says, gesturing to Bucky’s bruised face. “Or what you did today. It’s inappropriate and embarrassing for me and your mother.”

Something about the last part stings. It takes any leftover joy from his encounter with Steve from him, and leaves him feeling cold. He’s heard his father say the same thing to Rebecca too many times to count. Bucky, though? Bucky’s always been the example to follow, he’s always been the, “Why can’t you be more like James?” to the equation.

He hadn’t planned on actually acting on anything yet, but he’s desperate for his father to stop looking at him like that. “It’s been hard moving here,” he says quickly. “I know you said you could probably get me into school this coming semester, but I think I need to take a break for a bit.” Before his father can even interject, Bucky quickly continues. “Someone that I met at church said he could probably help me get a job. I figure I can work through this semester and summer until I go back.”

It comes out like the truth but it’s not. He only wants to work through the semester and summer so that he can hopefully save up enough money to help him move out. He’s nearly petrified at the thought of somehow working up the courage to leave, but it also seems like the only light he can follows right now.

His father nods his head approvingly. “You’re an adult, James. I trust you to make your own decisions, and if you feel like that’s best for you, then you should do it. You need to get a job, though. I’m not going to let you stay here if you don’t have one.”

Bucky nods his head. “Yeah, of course.”

His father gives him one more stern, searching look before clicking off the bathroom light and letting Bucky pass through to his bedroom.

Once he’s alone, he pulls out the sketchbook wedged in-between his mattress and box spring, and then sets to work on his portfolio.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a small chapter, but only because the next one is long. Also some drunk shenanigans are coming up :)

 

**_Chapter Five_ **

“Stop moving, you asshole,” Steve says, throwing one of his erasers in Clint’s direction. It sails over his shoulder, though, and hits Natasha, which only makes Clint burst into laughter.

They’re at Clint and Natasha’s apartment, mostly just hoping that they don’t see the rat that’s been stalking around their kitchen for the past few weeks. Clint and Natasha are on the couch, Steve on the ground drawing a portrait of Clint. Sam is in the corner trying to pick out a movie from their small collection, making faces to himself when he pulls one out.

“Why is this sticky?” he asks. “Why is _everything_ sticky here.”

“We host a lot of orgies here,” Natasha says. “You didn’t know that?”

Sam frowns. “I can’t even tell if you’re being serious.” He looks at Steve. “Is she being serious?”

“You’ve never been invited?”

Sam mutters out a few annoyed curses and then continues to look for a movie. Clint can’t stop laughing at everything, which is most likely because of the weed he had smoked a few minutes ago, leaving the whole living room smelling. Sam had complained about it, but he also hadn’t rejected the joint when it was offered.

Clint smoked most of it, though, before begging Steve to draw him. He was regretting agreeing now, Clint still bent over, slapping his hands together while laughing. Steve sighs and places the sketchbook down on the coffee table, abandoning his drawing to lie down on the carpet and stare at the ceiling until Sam nudges him with sock.

“Hey, how do you feel about this one?” he asks, hovering the DVD over Steve’s head.

Steve shrugs. He doesn’t know the movie. “Sounds good.”

Sam sits down next to him to fiddle with the DVD player, but turns his body so he can look at Steve. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Just – ” He swallows. “The anniversary is coming up next month, and I’m worried about my Ma. You know how she gets.”

“Is she eating?”

“I hope.”

“Want me to come over one night?” he asks, putting the DVD into the player. “I know she always likes my grandma’s old recipes.”

Steve smiles at him. “You should. She does.”

The TV is just flickering to life when Sam asks, “How was your date?”

Before Steve can respond, Clint nearly bolts upright in surprise. “Steve Rogers on a _date_?”

Steve covers his face with his hands, his lips curling up still. “Fuck you.”

“With who?” Natasha asks, still lounging on the couch.

Clint squints his eyes. “I think it’s with _whom_.”

“Just some guy I met at my mom’s church.”

Sam scoffs. “No, you gotta tell them the best part.”

Steve keeps his face covered when he quietly says, “He’s the pastor’s son.”

Expectedly, the room bursts into laughter, and even Steve can’t help but to laugh too, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting him. He’s always been indifferent, or even borderline annoyed, of the act of going to church. It seems oddly fitting that the only thing he’d find there was a crush, on the pastor’s son no less.

The teasing persist for at least five minutes until Sam finally asks again how the date went. Steve has to think for a few seconds, fingers now tugging awkwardly on the hem of his shirt. “I don’t even think it was a date. He mostly just wanted to know about the school. He seemed kind of weird when I told him I was bisexual.”

“I swear to god, Steve,” Sam starts in his parenting voice. “If you fall for another straight guy I’m going to murder you.”

“He might just be shy,” Natasha offers.

“He is. He’s kind of…” Steve pauses, making a face. “Weird, I guess. But I like it. It’s a good weird.”

Clint makes a high pitched noise before dropping to the ground to nearly collapse on Steve, their limbs tangled together. “He’s in love!”

“Am not.”

Clint reaches over to mess up Steve’s hair and make kissy noises right in his ear. Steve pushes him away and looks back up to the ceiling.

“There’s something else,” Steve says then, sitting up to look at Natasha. “He’s new to the city, and I kind of mentioned that I might be able to help him get a job.”

She stares at him for a few seconds and then nods her head. “Only if he’s at least read a Chekhov.”

Steve beams when he hears this, already reaching for his phone to send Bucky a message, and give him any excuse to talk to him and hopefully see his own bright smile again. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure he has,” he assures her.

He’s, like, ninety-nine percent sure he hasn’t.

***

It takes Bucky twenty minutes to get to the bookstore from his apartment, but he doesn’t mind the commute. He tries to imagine himself doing it every day, each day highlighted by the songs he listens to on the way there, and the people he sees on the subway and imagines what their lives are like.

He’s not entirely certain what his job is going to be, but Steve had texted him that they’d probably hire him as long as he showed up for the interview on time. He also said one of his friends from school works there, someone named Natasha. Bucky’s nervous to meet one of Steve’s friends, but he also is interested to see the kind of people he spends his time with.

He arrives at the bookstore a whole twenty minutes early and isn’t sure whether to just walk in or not. He ambles outside of the shop for a few minutes just checking his phone for messages he hasn’t received, or calls he might have missed. After running his hand through his hair and sighing for the fifteenth time, he decides to just go in.

He’s nearly shaking when he opens the door, a bell jangling from above him. There’s a desk to his left that a red-haired woman is standing at. She is eyeing him suspiciously. It’s not exactly the most welcoming entrance for a potential customer.

“Hi,” he says, voice pitched just a little too high. He clears his throat before continuing. “I have an interview for noon. I’m a little early but – “

“You’re Bucky?” she asks, eyebrow drawn up with a hint of amusement now.

Bucky swallows thickly, even more intimidated than before. “Yes.”

“What’s your favorite book?”

It’s a position in a bookstore, and yet Bucky hadn’t ever considered that he would need any knowledge on the books. He flounders for too long, and he can tell that the woman is unimpressed. He finally spits out his answer, only to feel stupider than he did before. “ _Pride and Prejudice_.”

She actually laughs when she hears this, only making Bucky feel like he’s going to throw up. “Make sure to tell her that in the interview; she’ll love it.”

Bucky wants to defend his answer, or at least make it seem like a joke, but she walks out from behind the desk and leads him to the back of the bookshop. The shelves are only a few feet apart, and make Bucky slightly claustrophobic, and the place has a vague smell of cigarette smoke that’s been lingering for years. There are hundreds of books, though, crammed onto shelves and stacked in corners and in chairs.

Bucky wishes he could appreciate the place without the looming anxiety nearly swallowing him whole as the woman knocks on a door and then lets herself in, revealing a small office with an old lady at the desk. The woman from before says something to her in another language that Bucky thinks is Russian before she smiles at Bucky again before leaving, closing the door behind her.

The interview is strange, and unlike any other job interview Bucky has ever done. Bucky hands over his resume, but the woman doesn’t seem interested in it. In a thick accent, she inquires about the books that Bucky has read, and Bucky has to embarrassingly admit that he hasn’t read in a few years. He knows he should just lie, but he can’t manage to, and somehow ends up trying to explain how tiring his schoolwork was and how there never felt like there was time to sit back and enjoy a fiction book.

She doesn’t seem to mind, though, and seems happy about the books that Bucky does tell her he’s read and liked. Some of them of classics that he had to read for class, other more recent books that he’s picked up from the library. When she asks about school, Bucky explains about moving to New York from Indiana, and how he thinks he wants to get into architecture. It’s the first person he’s told beside Steve, and there’s something about it that makes the idea seem even more real, like he could actually be taking freshmen year architecture classes next August.

After an undetermined amount of time that Bucky feels like could be twenty minutes or even a few hours, she tells him his first few shifts, written down on a loose piece of paper that has Cyrillic on the opposite side. She shoos Bucky out of her office, and he walks back to the front feeling like he’s in a dream. His thoughts seem all over the place when he makes it back to the woman at the desk. She’s giving him an amused smile.

“Oh god,” she says. “Don’t tell me she hired you?”

Bucky blinks, unsure if she’s joking or not.

“Look, Steve said you were nice so I fully expect for you to make sure you clean the bathroom when it’s your turn and to actually put the books away right.”

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. Then, “You’re Natasha, right?”

She flashes him another smile, all teeth, and Bucky already is slightly nervous to work with her.

It turns out, though, that she is nicer than her mysterious, slightly alarming personality she put on for their first meeting. When Bucky shows up for his first shift, a day before Christmas, she shows him the ropes. She teaches him the how to organize the books, and how to use the cash register, and a million little things that seem like too much to remember. She doesn’t seem bothered by his multiple attempts at ringing up a stack of books wrong, and instead slowly guides him through it.

The job turns out to be a good escape. Bucky keeps his sketchbook in his backpack and when the store is quiet for hours on ends in the morning. He practices with a few thin tip pens and a ruler since he doesn’t have a computer program for it. He likes it, though, and finds solace in the straight lines that eventually end up into something he’s proud of.

He works a few weeks before he finally gets the hang of things. He lays low with his father, but is still surprised when his parents and the girls come in one day to see him at work, all of them impressed to see him putting books away in the back corner of the shop. In the time, he applies for college and slowly becomes friends with Natasha. It was slow at first, especially with how quiet he can be, but eventually they had found middle ground while reading Emily Dickinson proses. He learned that she was born in Russia, but moved to the States when she was ten, and that she was studying poetry, but thinks she wants to transfer to creative writing. He talks to her about architecture, and she pulls old books from the back to show him. He’s not exactly sure how close they are until one day, when she shows up for her shift with a scarf wrapped around her neck, red hair windblown from the cold.

She unwinds her scarf as Bucky fills her in on things she’s missed, including the fact that he had finished another one of her suggested readings. After a few ambling minutes of discussion on the book, she sorts through a stack and flippantly says, “You’re coming on Saturday, right?”

It catches Bucky off guard. “Saturday?”

“Did Steve not invite you?”

“Um.”

Bucky doesn’t want to admit that his and Steve’s conversations have been scarce lately. He and Steve had texted back and forth for the first week that Bucky worked, Bucky randomly sending texts and his heart rate picking up whenever he saw that Steve texted him back. It was nice. The texts just stopped coming, though, and Bucky was too scared to try again, thinking maybe he did something wrong, or even worse, that he wasn’t interesting enough for Steve.

Mostly, it was killing Bucky. He tried not to think too hard about it, especially since Steve was still responding sparingly, so Bucky just has to assume he’s busy. It’s hard, though. Maybe it was stupid for him to think, but he thought they were going to be friends. And maybe they are, and Bucky’s just looking too deeply into everything, but he’s always been like that.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s my birthday party,” she says. “You should come. Steve will be there.”

He stares at her for a few seconds, half scared that she will start laughing and tell him it’s a joke. He hasn’t been entirely certain how close they were getting, but a birthday invitation seems promising. He suddenly feels a little light-headed at the happiness of simply making a friend.

“Yeah, definitely. I would like to.”

“Cool. I’ll text you my address.”


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter Six_ **

Steve is dead set on getting as drunk as possible tonight. Clint and Natasha already told him he could stay over, so Steve sends his mother a quick text message about being out for the night and then pours himself a shot of vodka in hopes that he won’t worry about it much.

He feels a little like he’s been trapped in his apartment with his mother. He’s been scared to leave her alone, and doesn’t trust her to eat on her own, either. He had expected her to be sad, but this year seemed harder than the last somehow. Steve had watched movies with her, went grocery shopping with her, and tried to be supportive. It was draining, though, and the sadness that burdened her so heavily seemed to spread to Steve some days.

He figured he needed a break for the night, and vodka at Natasha’s birthday parties was always a staple.

He’s two shots down and drinking something fruity that Natasha herself had mixed for him when he sees Bucky walk in.

The party is loud around him, but the music playing and people talking seem to dull a little when he looks at Bucky. He’s talking to Natasha, dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans and an untucked short sleeved button-up. He hands her an honest to god wrapped gift with a bow on it, looking slightly abashed as she takes it from him.

Despite himself, Steve starts to walk over to them. He still feels guilty for practically ignoring every single message Bucky has sent him over the past month. He’s felt swallowed by the overwhelming sadness at his apartment, though, and sometimes even sending a text message felt like a lot of work. He regrets it even more now when he sees how good Bucky looks. There’s something less resigned and self-conscious about him, and Steve desperately wants to know how he’s doing.

“Hey,” he says when he walks up to the two of them still chatting. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Bucky seems surprised, but nods. “Yeah, Natasha invited me.”

“Because you didn’t, you asshole,” she says teasingly.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, I would’ve really. I just – ” Steve stops. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Bucky’s face seems to go red when he hears this, but he smiles then, that same warm smile that makes Steve’s knees go weak.

Steve needs to drink more if he’s going to make it through the night.

Natasha opens her gift then, the colorful wrapping paper revealing a book that Steve’s never heard of. The two laugh about it like it’s an inside joke, and even Steve laughs a little because of the two of them seem happy. He’s slightly jealous that he doesn’t feel nearly as close to Bucky as Natasha seems to be, but he knows it’s only because they work together. Steve and Bucky haven’t even seen each other for weeks.

Natasha drags Bucky to the kitchen and they all do shots together, a few random people hanging around the kitchen joining in. Bucky grimaces when he slams his shot glass down on the counter but it’s quickly replaced with a delighted laugh. Natasha is pulled away quickly after that, and Steve and Bucky hang around the kitchen talking for a while, Bucky sipping on a beer with eyes sparkling in Steve’s direction.

It’s the most relaxed that Steve’s ever seen Bucky, and he seems to take on a whole new personality. He laughs almost twice as much and keeps saying little things that make Steve break into laughter, nearly choking on his drink in the process.

They talk about stupid things. Bucky tells him how his new job is going, and Steve talks about the night he spent scrapbooking with his mother. Steve doesn’t know how to apologize to Bucky about ignoring him for so long, so he doesn’t. Instead, they talk until Clint forces them into a game of beer pong. Natasha forces Bucky to be on her team, and Bucky just shrugs at Steve from across the table with a smile on his face.

Bucky is surprisingly good at beer pong, and he’s even better at dealing with Clint’s antics, and he talks to Sam about old movies for at least an hour. Somehow he mixes perfectly with them, and Steve can’t help the little pangs of jealousy when he’s around Natasha. Although he knows Natasha is already in the middle of a complicated mess with Clint so it’s unlikely she feels the same way, Bucky must have a crush on her.

It’s not like Steve can’t just have a friend, either. Bucky _can_ be a friend. It’s just that – maybe he had hoped that –

The night seems to go by so quickly in a blur of more poured drinks that slow down as the party does. People start leaving around midnight, and by one, the entire apartment is empty except for a mess of plastic cups and beer bottles. Bucky, Sam, and Steve are the only ones left, the three of them helping to clean up the mess as best as they can. Steve feels a little sick, but not nearly as drunk as he should probably feel.

They’re in the kitchen screwing caps back onto the liquor and emptying and recycling the bottles when Bucky says, “I should probably get going.” He’s looking at something on his phone, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“You can stay, if you want,” Natasha tells him. “I was already letting these two idiots stay over. I’m sure there’ll be room on the pullout couch.”

Bucky looks up from his phone to Natasha, a skeptical expression on his face. He looks over to Sam and Steve, almost like he’s asking them too.

Steve shrugs. “You should know that Sam always steals the covers, though.”

Sam shoves Steve. “Yeah, right. This one sleeps with his socks on, it’s disgusting.”

“So do I,” Bucky admits quietly.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re both freaks.”

In the end, Bucky decides to sleep over, but only after Natasha assures him at least a hundred times that it’s fine. She finally gets him shut up when she throws a pillow at him. Before going to bed herself, she dims the lights and opens the couch into a bed. Steve slips out of his jacket and then pulls off the sweater underneath, only left with a white t-shirt. Across the room, he can feel Bucky’s eyes on him, but he thinks maybe he’s making it up.

Sam is already lying down, and he bats at Steve with his foot. “Take your socks off.”

“I’d put on another pair if I could,” Steve tells him as he takes off his jeans, feeling slightly nervous with Bucky around. It’s never felt strange with just Sam, but he feels strangely revealing in just his briefs.

He tries not to think so hard about it, especially when he glances to see Bucky following his lead, slipping off his jeans. Steve quickly looks away and jumps onto the bed next to Sam. Sam makes an annoyed noise and pushes him away, but Steve wraps his arms around him and moves in closer.

“You love me and you know it,” Steve hums.

“You’re so touchy when you’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

Bucky interrupts them, looking slightly awkward next to the pullout couch. He has his arms crossed over his chest, looking small when he asks, “Did you guys want the lights off?”

They both nod and Bucky switches off the lights completely, leaving them in a dark room. A few seconds later, Bucky knocks his way to the couch, nearly falling on Steve and Sam in the process. He steadies himself with a hand on Steve’s leg, touch hesitant before he whispers, “Sorry.”

He slides in on the other side of Steve, knocking his elbow into Steve’s arm and saying sorry again until he’s all the way under the covers. It’s a tight squeeze for all of them, and half of Bucky’s body is touching Steve’s, and the same with Sam. Bucky’s touch feels stiff and uncomfortable until Steve whispers “Goodnight, guys,” to the two of them.

***

Bucky doesn’t sleep.

He thinks and he thinks and he thinks until he finally has to get up, cautiously pushing the blankets aside and just barely nudging into Steve as he gets out. He stumbles his way to the kitchen on tiptoes, and then blindly slides his hand against the cool wall until he finds a light switch. He hopes that he isn’t overstepping as he quietly opens cabinets until he finds a glass that he fills with water from the tap.

There is too much for his brain to process, and even though he’s exhausted, he can’t quite get the picture of Steve laughing at something he said before taking a long swig from his beer bottle. The memory sets him on edge and makes him lightened and a million other things full of contradictions.

He drinks a full glass of water and feels sicker than he did before.

He’s not stupid. It’s not like he didn’t realize before. It’s just – Bucky had hoped that he could ignore the truth for a little longer. It’s too hard when Steve’s presence feels more like a magnetic pull, always luring Bucky closer and closer until Steve’s right there, laughing and smiling and watching.

He fills the glass up again at the sink.

Everybody had been so nice to him all night. Bucky thinks it sort of feels like dunking his head under water with his eyes closed, the water warm and quiet. He never runs out of breath, though, can breathe even better than before as he takes shots and plays beer pong and even embarrassingly dances with his new friends.

And yet, he’s here in the kitchen unable to sleep because of the heavy feeling in his chest. It’s something he can’t even control, not really.

Just when he’s debating just finding his jeans and heading home, someone walks into the room, scaring Bucky with a quiet, “Hey.”

He spins around and finds Steve standing in the doorway, blond hair mused from sleep and his loose t-shirt pulled to one side, exposing pale skin and deep collarbones. He’s blinking in the bright lights of the kitchen, but then walks closer to Bucky and silently gestures to the glass in Bucky’s hand. Confused, Bucky hands it over and watches as Steve downs the entire thing.

“Still feel kinda drunk,” Steve tells him, voice deeper than earlier. He leans against the counter across from Bucky. “Why are you up?”

He shrugs. “Can’t sleep.”

“Natasha’s pullout that bad?” Steve jokes dryly, still looking sleepy.

“No, it’s not that. It was just a long night.”

“You had a good time?”

Bucky nods his head. “Yeah, definitely. I’m glad Natasha invited me.”

“Me too.”

The two words actually make Bucky smile goofily, looking down to his feet with what has to be a red face. His entire brain feels like it’s just screaming _SteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteve_.

“You know Natasha and Clint are kind of together, right?” Steve says then, a crease between his eyebrows. “I mean, not officially, and she’d probably kill me if she knew I was telling you, but. I just thought I should. Just in case you…”

When Steve doesn’t fill in the blank, Bucky stares at him before blurting out, “In case I what?”

Despite the way that Steve always seems to manage such a calm and collected air, he seems to fumble, an awkward look on his face as he shrugs and his eyes slip past Bucky’s gaze. “I thought maybe you were into her, and I wanted to give you a heads up.”

“ _Oh_.” Bucky can barely even understand this. He was so worried that Steve _knew_ , and that it was so obvious, but Steve thinks that Bucky is into _Natasha_. It almost makes him laugh. “No. I’m not. I – _No_. I just want to be her friend.”

Steve looks up and grins. “You are her friend.”

And Bucky’s underwater again, just like that, the warmth enveloping with a single smile from Steve.

After a few seconds of content silence, Steve says, “I wanted to apologize to you.”

It seems so offhanded, and yet like Steve’s been waiting all night for a moment to say it. Bucky waits patiently, heart suddenly beating faster as he tries to think of why Steve should be sorry.

“I didn’t mean to, like, ghost you or something for the past month,” he admits. “Um, I’ve just been watching over my mom. Last month was only the second Christmas without my dad. It was kind of hard for her.”

“And you?”

“What do you mean?”

“And you, was it hard for you?”

Steve licks his lips and sighs, crossing his arms over chest defensively. “Sure, but it doesn’t change anything. He’s gone and I’m just trying to make my ma feel better.”

Bucky swallows nervously, feeling like maybe he said something he shouldn’t have. “Okay.”

“Anyways, I just wanted to say sorry because I liked talking to you, and I didn’t want for you to think that I didn’t.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky assures him. “You’re fine.”

Steve laughs nervously then, shaking his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to like, _you know_.”

Bucky doesn’t really know, but he lets it slide as Steve starts telling him about one night when he tried to make an old family recipe for him and his mother and burnt it. The mood shifts, and suddenly the two of them are trying their hardest not to wake everyone up with their laughter.

Steve seems just a little bit unhinged, and Bucky accredits it to the alcohol, but there’s something comfortable about the way he doesn’t mind coming off strange, like he’s not even bothering to put up an image of who he is anymore. It helps Bucky not feel so bad about himself, and like he too can drop all the pretenses and walls and just have fun for a while.

Eventually, the exhaustion hits Bucky unexpectedly, the excitement of the whole day finally wearing down on him. Bucky can’t bear to admit it to Steve, so he tries his best to stifle his yawns as he listens to Steve.

Before they go to bed, Steve is talking about his art, and Bucky interrupts him to say, “I want to see your art.”

Steve seems surprised. “Sure. You could come to my studio space if you wanted sometime.”

“Definitely.”

“I can give you a sneak peak, if you wanted.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

Steve smirks and starts rooting around in drawers until he comes up with a pen and then snags a napkin from the holder on the table. He shields the paper with body as he draws something, laughing breathily to himself. Bucky looks at the sharp edges of Steve’s elbows and the curve of his shoulders, the white shirt nearly transparent. Bucky’s eyes wander lower, half-scared that Steve can feel his gaze on him as he takes in Steve’s black briefs and the pale skin of his thighs. He’s still wearing his socks that are now bunched up at his ankles.

When he’s finished with his drawing, he’s nearly shaking with laughter. He hands it over to Bucky with a hand over his mouth.

It’s only a quick sketch, but it’s two bears, one big than the other, that are playing beer pong.

“It’s us,” Steve tells him quickly. “But we’re bears.”

Bucky stares at it for a few more seconds before he breaks into laughter. It’s not that funny, not really, but something about the fact that Steve thinks it’s so funny makes Bucky double over in laughter. It must be too loud, though, because Steve is suddenly ripping the napkin from his grip and smacking his arm playfully.

“ _Shh_ ,” he hisses, still laughing himself. “Natasha will kill us if we wake her up.”

This, of course, only makes Bucky laugh even harder than before. Steve then covers Bucky’s mouth with his hand and keeps shushing Bucky even while he cracks up himself. Bucky stops laughing, but only once he realizes how close Steve’s gotten. Their toes are touching when Steve stops laughing too, a smile fading as he moves his hand away from Bucky’s mouth.

There are a few tense moments where Bucky wants to turn away and say something, anything, just to escape the proceeding. He knows it’s coming before he can feel Steve’s lip on his. He’s been so terrified of this moments for what feels like years, and maybe it is just as terrifying as he always thought it would be, but the fear doesn’t taste like he thought it would.

He faintly registers Steve’s finger on his neck, and his thumb on his chin as he kisses Bucky. He tastes sweet, and the kisses are quick and fervent, and Bucky is so caught off guard that he doesn’t do anything.

It’s so quick. Steve stop kissing him when Bucky never starts kissing him back.

All Bucky can think is, _that was my first kiss_.

And then he thinks, _is it a first kiss if I didn’t kiss back?_

Steve looks at him painfully for a few short seconds before turning around, all of his warmth dropping away when he takes a few steps away and turns his back to him. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Then, pitifully, he tacks on, “I’m still kinda drunk.”

Bucky’s not entirely sure what he wanted Steve to say, but this is the last possible thing he wanted to hear. It’s the most forgiving, though, and he knows he’s looking at a loophole, an excuse, a way out of truth, and he knows he should take it.

He feels like he can’t talk, though. The lump in his throat feels massive as he tries to swallow and think of something to say. “Okay. It’s fine,” he finally spits out.

Steve turns around to look at him. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure.”

Steve nods grimly. “We should probably go to bed.”

When they finally slip back into bed, every accidental touch feels like a burn.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven_ **

When Steve wakes up, Bucky is already gone.

Both sides of the bed are empty and the covers are kicked to the ground. He only wakes up since there are people talking in the kitchen, and when he hears Clint snort loudly, the night before suddenly falls on him. He doesn’t feel sick, but he does feel a headache coming on.

He gets out of the bed and pulls on his jeans before wandering into the kitchen, half-hoping to find Bucky sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, his hair sleep mused as he smiles while listening to a ridiculous story from Clint. He isn’t, though, and instead, all traces of him seem to have disappeared, like he never existed.

Natasha, Clint, and Sam are all goofing around when Steve enters the kitchen. Sam is at the stove, something hissing as he uses a spatula to mix it. Natasha and Clint are at the table with a collection of ingredients, Natasha cursing at Clint as he pours tomato juice all over the table.

“Bloody marys?” Steve questions, announcing his presence to the room.

“You’re finally up!” Sam hollers. “I thought you had died.”

Steve gives him a hard look and then settles at the table, watching as Natasha tries (and fails) to teach Clint to make a good bloody mary.

“I forgot you were always so grumpy in the morning,” Natasha hums, looking over at him.

“Am not.”

“Are too,” Clint responds automatically.

Natasha slides over a bloody mary that she made herself and gives him a long, suspiciously knowing look. It makes Steve worried that maybe she overhead Bucky and Steve the night before, or even worse, she just _knows_.

Steve takes a sip, face scrunching up with the amount of vodka Natasha put in, and then puts his face in his arms down on the table.

He was so stupid. First, he had to go and open his big, jealous mouth and bring up Natasha and Clint. He’s still not sure if Bucky was just playing it off, but he seemed to be telling the truth about only wanting to be her friend. It had played with Steve’s head, though. He had really thought that Bucky was into him.

He didn’t kiss Steve back, and that is enough of an answer.

“You guys, I fucked up,” Steve admits quietly, huffing out an audible sigh.

Clint and Natasha seem more amused than sympathetic. “What, did Bucky see your morning wood?”

Steve actually cringes at the thought. “ _No_ ,” he says. “Where is he?”

Clint shrugs. “Left pretty early.”

“Said he had to get to church,” Natasha corrects.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve mumbles to himself. He quickly scrambles up from his chair and takes a long gulp of the bloody mary Natasha made for him and then heads for the door. He’s quickly lacing up his shoes when Sam looks over at him.

“Wait, what happened? You’re leaving?”

“I told my mom I would go to church with her.”

Clint barks out a laugh, but is only met with scolding looks from Natasha and Sam. “Are you sure you don’t want the rest of your drink?”

Natasha slaps him on the arm and looks back to Steve. “Have a good time.”

They all yell out goodbyes as Steve departs, pulling out his phone to find no missed calls or messages from his mother. He texts her a quick reminder that he’ll be home in time, and then prays that the subway won’t get delayed today.

He gets home in record time. He’s slightly out of breath and probably smells like beer, but he doesn’t have time for a shower, so he quickly throws on the clothes his mother left him and runs a hand through his hair. He shaves over the sink before throwing water over his face, hoping maybe it will make himself more presentable, for his mother’s sake at least. It doesn’t, and he still looks like a mess, but his mother says nothing.

When they’re on the subway, though, she asks, “Did you have a good time last night?”

Steve nods. “It was a nice.”

“Did Natasha have a good birthday?”

Steve’s mother has always liked Natasha. They always manage to start talking about old books that Steve has never even heard of, and she has even asked to read some of Natasha’s poetry and short stories.

“Definitely.”

She seems happy to hear this, and they don’t talk for the rest of the ride. They manage to actually arrive a little early, and Steve’s eyes instantly close in on Bucky’s figure leaning against the front of the building with a cup of coffee in his hands. He looks better than Steve does, but nearly twice as exhausted looking.

“Hey, I’m going to talk to Bucky for a few minutes. I’ll meet you inside.”

His mother glanced over to where Steve had jerked his finger towards, only to frown slightly upon seeing him. “He’s the pastor’s son, isn’t he?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. He might go to my school, so I’ve been helping him out with admissions and stuff.” He tries to keep his voice on the verge of disinterested. He doesn’t mind if she knows about Steve’s crush, but she always managed to tease him relentlessly and make things weird between him and his crush.

She doesn’t seem to notice, though. “We should invite him over for lunch afterwards, don’t you think?”

Steve tries to keep his face emotionless. The prospect is slightly horrifying. His mother seems to be doing better, or at least better than she was a few weeks ago, but there are still aspects of Steve’s life that he’s scared to let Bucky see.

Maybe it’s how quiet Bucky is, but he always manages to give off this aura that he’s incredibly observant and understanding, like Steve doesn’t need to give him all the pieces for him to put together the puzzle. Most of the time he lies it, but there can be something unsettling about trying to put on a front and feeling like someone can see right through it.

And Steve’s scared for Bucky to see through his home life.

His mother must take his silence for a positive response because the two of them head for Bucky. He’s staring out into the street with a heavy look on his face that makes Steve instantly nervous. He doesn’t want to bother Bucky, especially knowing what his mother is about to ask.

Bucky looks over when they get closer, eyes wide with surprise as he takes in Steve and his mother. His face turns red, and Steve wonders if it’s because of his mother or if he’s thinking of last night. A fresh wave of guilt and embarrassment washes over Steve just at the thought.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says, flashing a quick smile.

“Hi,” he says shyly, looking from Steve to his mother. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Rogers.”

She seems amused. “Sarah is fine,” she tells him. “We wanted to know if you’d like to come over for lunch after the service?”

Bucky’s mouth parts in surprise as he quickly glances over at Steve, like he’s trying to gauge whether Steve wants for him to come over or not. Steve gives him another smile, not sure what he really wants. He wants to spend time with Bucky, and can’t help but to seize any opportunity he has to spend time with him. This seems to outweigh any fear Steve has of Bucky seeing into his life.

“I would love to, ma’am.”

“Beautiful. We’ll come find you afterwards,” she says. Then, noticing the look that Steve is sending her, she continues, “I’ll leave you two alone now.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Steve sighs. “Sorry, I think she thinks you’re my boyfriend.”

Bucky’s face goes even redder than before, and Steve tries not to read into it. “She knows?”

“That you’re my boyfriend?”

“No,” Bucky chokes out, a surprised laugh following it. “I meant that – she knows you’re bisexual?”

“Oh! Yeah, I came out when I was in eighth grade. She’s cool with it.” Steve tries to read the expression on Bucky’s face, but he refuses to look over at Steve, eyes dejectedly staring into the dirty sidewalk. “Which is why she’s always trying to meet everyone I hang out with. She thinks I’m always dating all my friends. But you don’t have to come over, you know that right? I can make up an excuse. Tell her you’re not feeling well or – ”

“No, I want to,” Bucky interjects, looking hurt. He quickly backtracks, though. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

Steve shakes his head. “You should come over.”

Bucky is quiet for a few seconds and then nods.

They should probably be heading in, but Steve knows this is his only chance to mention last night to Bucky. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and he doubts Bucky does either, but he can’t just pretend like it never happened.

“Hey, I wanted to talk about last night,” he starts carefully. He tries to sound nonchalant about it, but he thinks he’s mostly failing. “I was still a little drunk, and reading the signs wrong, so I just wanted to apologize. I don’t want for things to get weird between us.”

He knows it’s counterproductive to try to find answers in Bucky’s expression after he says it, but Steve can’t help but to notice the conflicted look he gives him. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it and looks away from Steve. It feels like rejection, and Steve is well-versed in this enough to know when to call it quits. If Bucky isn’t interested, no matter how much Steve’s been analyzing all of their interactions, trying to figure out what he had missed, it is what it is.

He wasn’t interested, and Steve can respect that. He just thought that he was actually reading the signs right this time.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize,” Bucky finally says. He won’t even look at Steve. “We can just pretend it didn’t happen.”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but Steve can’t help but to feel a little gutted by his words. It’s not a big deal. He tries not to show his disappoint, but he thinks it’s obvious when he says, “Okay, sure.”

They share a moment of eye contact where it feels like Bucky is trying to apologize to him without saying anything. Steve knows he must be doing it again, though, and seeing things that aren’t there.

“We should go inside,” he forces out.

Bucky nods and then the two of them head into the church. Bucky doesn’t walk ahead of him, or stray from his side, and instead walks shoulder to shoulder with him until he parts to go further to the front. He looks back at Steve once, eyes worried.

Steve sits further back in the pews with his mother, eyes begrudgingly wandering over to the familiar head of brown hair ahead of him. He’s spacing out, staring at Bucky’s father but not managing to hear a word of what he’s saying, when Steve realizes that Bucky’s no longer sitting, and instead walking out, head bowed and hands in his pockets. Steve almost actually stands and follows him, but tells himself not to. Admittedly, an ugly part of him is bitter that Bucky didn’t want him, but mostly he’s angry at himself for not seeing things clearly.

Steve realizes that Bucky’s returned about ten minutes later, and sits stiffly next to his family. The rest of the service goes by in a blur, and by the time that everyone is getting up to leave, Steve’s mother is putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder to jolt him back to reality. “Did you want to go find Bucky?”

Bucky finds them first, already shouldering his coat and not looking back to his family. Bucky and Steve’s mother talk about the service, Bucky chiming in sparingly, and mostly just to agree with her. Steve keeps quiet because it’s not like he really heard anything that was said.

They don’t talk on the subway ride, but Bucky makes small talk as they head to the apartment. He seems nervous, voice tight and polite. It reminds Steve of when he first met Bucky. When they finally arrive at the apartment, Steve’s mother insists on starting lunch, and Bucky is quick to offer to help. Steve begrudgingly helps too, the three of them moving around each other in the small kitchen.

Steve and Bucky don’t say much to each other, and Steve’s mother seems to sense that something is amiss. She tries to draw Steve into the conversation as she cuts up some strawberries to go with their salad. When Steve is trying to find something in the fridge, Bucky turns around right into Steve, their bodies touching awkwardly, and Bucky almost falls to the ground. Steve instantly reaches out to steady him with a hand on his forearm. His touch lingers for a few seconds, and Bucky looks down to where they’re touching, eyebrows stitched together.

Steve’s mother takes a call when they’re setting the table, and she gives the two of them an apologetic look before leaving the room. Steve sits across from Bucky at the table and tries not to look at him.

“Steve,” he says quietly. “Do you hate me now?”

It comes as such a surprise to hear the question. He definitely doesn’t hate Bucky. If anything, he’s a bit angry at him, but even that is petty. In reality, he’s angry at himself for making the moments between the two of them seem like more than what it was. They’re friends, and Steve doesn’t mind that, he just wishes it could be something more.

Bucky sounds so scared when he says it, though, like he really thinks that Steve would actually hate him for rejecting him. Something about it seems to make Steve realize how horrible he’s being to Bucky.

“No,” Steve assures him. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird. I just feel stupid about the other night. I don’t want for things to change between us.”

Bucky nods, noticeably relieved. “It doesn’t have to.”

And, _fuck_ , Steve still wishes it could.  

Despite this, he smiles and then shakes his body dramatically. “Okay, that’s it. We’re not weird anymore.”

Bucky laughs at him. “Okay.”

“Come on, you gotta do it, too.” Steve waves his arms around until Bucky finally gives in and shakes his shoulders a little. It’s then that Steve’s mother walks back into the room and stops in her tracks when she sees them.

“Do I even want to know what you two are up to?” She’s smiling when she says it, and a part of Steve is radiating with happiness just at the sight of her. Things have been so tense between them, and his mother has seemed so distant and unhappy, but he can’t help but to echo her words in his head with an optimistic ring. She sounds happy and amused, and Steve wishes things could stay this way.

Bucky’s face goes a deep red, but they all laugh about it. Bucky and Steve’s awkwardness melts away after that, and they eat their meal making comfortable conversation. Steve’s mother is clearly fond of Bucky, and it only is solidified as they talk about classic books that Steve’s never even heard of for at least twenty minutes. Steve likes to listen to them, even if he’s mostly not following any of it. He likes listening to Bucky speak so passionately about the books. He likes the way he’ll make hand gestures when he can’t quite find the right words and then Steve’s mother seems to finish the sentence for him.

After lunch, Bucky stays to watch a movie in Steve’s room. It’s only after he’s kicked all his dirty clothes under his bed and making up excuses to why the place is so dirty, that they find a random movie and sit on the bed together with their shoulders touching.

They’ve both seen the movie, so they end up talking through most of it.

“It’s not that great, Steve, really,” Bucky assures him when Steve says he wants to visit Indiana when Bucky tells a story about his hometown. “It’s just corn for miles. There’s not even public transport.”

“ _What_? How do you get anywhere?”

Bucky actually laughs at him. “You _drive_.”

“You can drive? What kind of car did you have?”

“A 2002 Sonata.”

“I have no idea what that looks like.”

“It’s not a very cool car.”

“Still, though, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to just, like, drive at night and listen to music. Like in the movies.”

“You seriously have never driven a car before?”

Steve shakes his head. “ _No_. Probably for the best.”

“You know, you’re pretty lucky to have grown up here,” Bucky tells him. “My parents did, but they moved back to Indiana when I was a baby because my grandpa got sick and they had to watch over him. Sometimes I think about what it would’ve been like to grow up here.”

“Every school field trip is either the Met or Coney Island,” Steve tells him knowingly. “And getting mugged on your way home from school is a rite of passage.”

“You’re kind of dramatic,” Bucky points out. Steve pretends to be offended, but Bucky only rolls his eyes. “We only moved because Rebecca got arrested for underage drinking, really. I think my parents think that it will help make us closer to them, but I think it’s kind of doing the opposite.”

Admittedly, Bucky is usually pretty quiet about his family. Steve clearly knows by now that his parents are disapproving of the idea of Bucky going to an art school, but it’s never like Bucky’s explicitly told him that. He’s never wanted to pry, but he’s always been curious about why Bucky doesn’t talk about them that much.

“What? Because you’re getting into fights at parties now?” Steve means it as a joke, and laughs when he says it, but Bucky’s face twists up in concentration when he hears it.

“Partly, maybe,” he admits. “Rebecca is still doing the same shit as before, but now I feel like I’m doing it too. My parents always used to think of me as some sort of a role model for her, but now I lie to them all the time. I told them I applied for the school they want me to go to, but I never even finished the application. I don’t even know how I’m going to tell them I’m moving out next year.”

“ _Shit_.”

“Yeah,” Bucky hums, sounding slightly hopeless. “I guess it just depends if I actually get in.”

“You will, Buck. Seriously,” Steve assures him. “You’re fucking talented. But also, it’s an art school so it’s pretty easy to get in.”

Bucky laughs, but he still seems uncertain about it all.

“You know, I was kind of nervous to have you over. Since my dad died, my mom’s been…depressed, I guess. Sometimes it feels easy to just sink into that same sadness, too. I guess I didn’t want for you to see that.”

It takes Bucky a few long, agonizing seconds for him to respond. “Are you sad now?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Not now.” It’s the truth. He feels good right now, despite how he felt earlier this morning. He thinks maybe he’ll be okay with just being Bucky’s friend. It’s enough. “Are _you_ sad now?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay sorry for my absence but i am back and plan on finishing this!

Bucky knew he was playing a dangerous game.

He purposefully asked for the evening shifts at work so that he could effectively avoid his parents, and during the weekends he would leave the house with a backpack on and his LSAT study book under his arms, an excuse about the library falling out of his mouth getting easier and easier as each week passes. He works Sunday mornings, and his parents aren’t happy about it, but he assures them it’s a good job. He’s grown to wearing a baseball hat, too so that it’s less noticeable how long his hair is getting. 

He feels a little bit like he’s living some sort of a double life, and Natasha has made the joke enough times. He doesn’t like the lying, and he doesn’t like sneaking around, and he definitely doesn’t like the worried looks his parents keep giving him. He’s sat through at least twenty lectures from his father that only make him feel an even worse mix of guilt and annoyance.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before everything goes wrong, but for now Bucky is trying to live his life in a way he never has. He’s never been more afraid to leave the house every day, but something about the way that Steve makes a face before taking a sip of his coffee when they’re hanging out before Bucky has work, or when Natasha pushes another book in his direction that she says will change his life makes it easier.

So he works, spending hours sketching and reading and talking to Natasha about what he’s read. He hangs out in cafes until his shift starts and applies for part-time jobs. He hangs out with Steve alone, the two of them getting coffee or going to see movies or just sitting around his apartment. Sometimes he even hangs out with all of Steve’s friends, which are admittedly even his friends by now too.

It’s getting warm out again, the snow melted and the overcast clouds traded out for a light blue. Bucky stops wearing his winter coat, and instead a grey utility jacket he’s owned for years. Steve teases him about it, always slipping his finger through the visible hole over his chest.

When Steve asks him why he doesn’t just buy a new jacket, Bucky has to admit that he’s not sure where to get one. He’s purposefully stayed away from clothing stores because it’s always been a struggle to find something that he actually likes or he feels comfortable in.

Admittedly, and Bucky won’t admit to it to Steve, and definitely not Natasha, but he likes their styles. They both have a collection of thrifted and meticulously researched items bought online. Bucky’s even seen them share clothes every once in a while.

That’s why he’s actually happy when Steve downs the rest of his coffee and announces, “Okay. Let’s go. We’re gonna go shopping.”

Bucky blinks a few times before shrugging and taking the last sip of his coffee, following after Steve as they head for the door. They walk to the nearest subway station, Steve scoffing. “I can’t believe you just said you don’t know where to shop. We live in goddamn _Brooklyn_ , Bucky.”

They only ride the subway for a few stops, but they wander the streets a couple blocks until Steve actually remembers where the few stores he likes are. Eventually, Steve excitedly drags Bucky into a cramped thrift store.

Steve immediately starts to shift through the nearest rack of clothes. He looks over to Bucky thoughtfully and goes, “Do you just want a jacket?”

“Whatever,” he says, turning away to look through the rack opposite Steve. “I haven’t bought clothes in a couple years, so. I probably need some new stuff.”

“ _A couple years_? Are you serious?”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s hard to find stuff I like.”

Steve seems to take this as a challenge and starts pulling out random pieces of clothing and handing them to Bucky for him to hold. Most of them make no sense to Bucky, and he can’t actually see himself ever wearing them, but he’s willing to give them a shot if Steve thinks he’ll like them.

“I didn’t realize you were a stylist,” Bucky teases when Steve holds up another shirt against Bucky’s chest, humming contemplatively.

“Do you want help or not?”

Bucky smiles. “Guess you’re my stylist now.”

“Guess so.”

They end up with armfuls of clothing, and the employee that unlocks a dressing room for them seems a bit wary of them, but she doesn’t say anything. Bucky tries to take the clothes from Steve before walking in, but Steve pushes him forward. “You don’t mind if I come in, right?”

Bucky shouldn’t feel shy. He’s spent nights at Steve’s apartment, and has shared his tiny twin size mattress enough nights, but he still feels nervous when he shakes his head and moves to let Steve in too. Steve puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s shoulders and then they rotate until Bucky isn’t facing the mirror.

“No peaking until the end,” Steve tells him as he goes through the clothes and picks out the pieces.

He hands Bucky a shirt, and Bucky is quick to slip off his own shirt and put on the new one, his bare skin feeling hot even if Steve isn’t looking at him. When he gives him a pair of light wash jeans, Steve pointedly searches through the pile of jackets so that Bucky can awkwardly take his jeans off.

Steve fiddles with the outfit until he deems it ready, fingers pushing and pulling at the fabric on Bucky’s body. The slight touches are enough to make Bucky feel like he’s on fire. Steve either ignores it, or doesn’t notice it. He only mumbles, “Sorry if this looks kinda gay. Kind of the only style I know.”

Steve is still meticulously rolling up the hem of Bucky’s jeans, but it’s enough time for Bucky to panic for a few seconds. He just wants to fucking say it, and get it out of his system before he goes crazy, but he throat feels closed off. He’s been so scared of the truth for so long but Steve is… _Steve_ , though.

“That’s fine,” Bucky finally says carefully, voice probably too quiet for Steve to hear anyways. “I think I’m gay anyways.”

He nearly stutters over the words with how fast his heart is beating. It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, especially after months of pining over Steve, and all the other signs he’s always known pointed to this truth.

Steve looks up from where’s kneeling on the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted. “You think?”

Bucky swallows thickly and shrugs. “I’m pretty sure, I guess.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

And, _fuck_ , Bucky does want to talk about it. He’s been thinking about it for years, though, analyzing every little detail and trying to connect everything that he’s ever done to who he is today. He’s sick of thinking about it, though, and the thought of having to articulate everything he’s been overanalyzing for the past months, the _past years_ , is too much in this moment.

“Not really,” he finally gets out.

Steve stands and meets him eye-level, the two of them not saying anything for a few seconds. If it hadn’t been obvious before, it must be written all over Bucky’s face now. His crush feels like a looming presence more than ever, and Steve knowing about it only makes it worse.

Steve had come on to him, though. He had kissed Bucky in the kitchen, and Bucky had rejected him.

He had been drunk, though, and sometimes Bucky forgets that. He wants to believe that Steve would’ve kissed him either way. And, yet, the thought of Steve actually willingly wanting to kiss Bucky seems so absurd to him.

Even worse, Bucky has a habit of daydreaming a million different scenarios to their kiss. Scenarios where he actually kisses back, scenarios where he apologizes about being surprised and asking to try again, scenarios where Steve’s hands touch him all over. At night, he’ll dream of those touches that he knows he doesn’t deserve, and he’ll wake up in the morning from his wet dreams embarrassed and hot all over.

It’s over with now, though, and no matter how much Bucky agonizes over what could’ve happened if he had acted differently, it is what it is.

Now, Steve smiles softly at him and then gestures for him to turn around. Bucky turns to the mirror and frowns at his reflection. He doesn’t even look like himself. For a few seconds, he searches the mirror with a confused look on his face.

Before he can even think of something to say, Steve yanks the baseball hat that Bucky’s always wearing off his head, and then runs his hands though his hair gently. He pushes it around until it’s not so flat, and then smiles at his work.

“You can tell me if you hate it,” he says then. “But I think you look good, seriously.”

“I like it,” Bucky says hesitantly. It’s the truth, but he’s still trying to take it all in. Although he would never have picked it out for himself, he still feels comfortable in it and is surprised by how much he actually likes how he looks in it.

“Are you sure?”

Bucky meets his gaze in the mirror and nods. “I look a little like you, though.”

“You wish,” Steve says, already yanking the jacket off of Bucky and preparing his next outfit.

Steve dresses him a few times before they end up with two carefully folded piles of winners and rejects. They spend another half hour at the store before buying some things and finding a new store to check out. Bucky starts to pick out things himself, nearly always running it by Steve first still, and they manage to find a few pieces that seem like decent staples to his wardrobe.

In the end, he finds a jean jackets that replaces his old one, and Steve gushes about it at least five minutes when Bucky first puts it on.

They go to a little restaurant eventually, all of his Bucky’s bags shoved under the table. It’s a bit nicer than either of them expect, but Bucky doesn’t feel as worried about money after having such a good day. He thinks about all the new things he has and the fact that in a few months he’ll move out and start to live a completely different life.

Admittedly, though, he already is. Ever since moving to New York his life has changed so much. Thinking about the person he was when he still lived in Indiana feels like a whole different person. He wonders if he would’ve ever gotten to this point in his life if he wouldn’t have ever met Steve.

Suddenly, voice a little choked when the conversation goes quiet, Bucky says, “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve looks up from his meal and scrunches his eyebrows together. “I’m just glad you got a new jacket, man. I was starting to feel bad for you.”

“No, I mean – ” Bucky swallows thickly. “Thank you for everything. Things have changed so much since I met you.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. He seems confused. “I just. I don’t know what I did, but you’re welcome?”

Bucky wishes he could explain everything to him but he’s not sure if he’d be able to get the words out right if he tried. Even worse, he’s worried he’s going to break down in the restaurant.

He shrugs and looks away. “I don’t know. Just thank you, I guess.”

Steve smiles, but says nothing. A few seconds pass and Steve bumps his shoe into Bucky’s from under the table.

Bucky fiddles with his fork and then clears his throat. “I’ve known for a long time – that I’m gay. I guess I had just hoped that it I could ignore it. I’m not sure how much longer it would have taken for me to, like, come to terms with it if I hadn’t met you.”

Steve seems surprised, but he quickly puts on a goofy grin and goes, “I’m just _that_ gay, I guess.”

Bucky knows that Steve can’t take more than a few minutes of serious talk, so he doesn’t say more. He hopes that Steve knows, though, the importance of his presence in Bucky’s life.

After they finish their meal and waiting for the waitress to come back with their cards, Steve checks his phone and asks, “Hey, did you want to go over to Natasha and Clint’s apartment and hang?”

Bucky’s exhausted after everything that’s happened today, but he nods his head, nearly high knowing that he can spend a little longer with Steve. They take the subway over Steve offers three times to carry some of Bucky’s bags before he just reaches over and yanks a few out of Bucky’s hands.

Natasha and Clint are lounging in the living room when they arrive. Natasha answers the door and gives them a long look, eyes dropping to the bags and then back up, eyebrow arched.

“We shopped until we dropped,” Steve says, pushing into the apartment.

Natasha rolls her eyes at him and then greets Bucky with a warm smile. “I like you better than him. Did you finish it yet, by the way?”

Bucky and Natasha start to excitedly talk about the last recommendation that Natasha gave Bucky as Steve dumps the bags on the ground and flops onto the couch next to Sam and Clint.

“You guys are nerds,” Clint hums.

“It’s true,” Sam agrees. “Such intellectuals.”

“It’s disgusting,” Steve says.

The two of them continue talking over their sarcastic remarks. Bucky feels comfortable in the apartment for once. He’s always felt so on-edge with Steve’s friends, scared that he’d mess something up. He’s so close to Natasha and Steve now, though, and Sam and Clint are only getting closer and closer. Back home in Indiana, Bucky’s friends were barely anything like them. They were friends, but Bucky always kept everyone at an arm’s length. Here, though, he’s not scared to be himself.

The day has felt impossibly long, but they waste hours just talking and goofing around. Halfway through the night, Clint pulls out a blunt and they pass it around, and they all laugh when Bucky chokes a little on the smoke. He leans his head against the back of the couch and smiles warmly as they go around telling stories and interrupting each other. Steve gets closer and closer as the night progresses, and eventually ends up right at his side. He leans his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and for a few seconds he freezes up in surprise but quickly melts into the touch.

Later on, Steve drops his head onto Bucky’s lap and looks up to Bucky with a smile on his face. He nonchalantly goes, “Play with my hair,” and grabs Bucky’s hand and puts in on his head until Bucky runs his hand through the blond hair.

At the end of the night, Natasha offers for them to stay the night but Steve and Bucky shake their heads at the same time and say they’ll be fine. Steve takes Bucky’s bags again as they leave in a chorus of goodbyes and make their way back onto the street. It’s a little muggy out, but it’s late enough to be pretty quiet on the streets for Brooklyn.

Bucky wants to ask if he can stay at Steve’s apartment, but he doesn’t. He hates the thought of going home and breaking the spell he’s in. He doesn’t want to wake everyone up and have his father sit him down for another stern talking to that’ll end in Bucky nearly getting kicked out again. As they slowly walk shoulder to shoulder, Bucky thinks wistfully of the clicking of Steve’s clock and the smell of his sheets, and most of all Steve’s warm presence next to him.

Right before they break off, though, to go their separate ways, Steve stops Bucky from crossing the street. “Just come over to mine. Think Ma is already at work so we won’t wake her.”

It’s all Bucky needs. He follows Steve back to his apartment and leaves his dirty shoes neatly at the door next to Steve’s. They stumble into his bedroom and Steve flops face-first into the bed and stays that way for a few minutes before getting up and dragging himself to the bathroom.

Admittedly, Bucky has a toothbrush at Steve’s, but only because Steve had insisted he take a spare one they had. The two of them stand in front of the mirror and brush their teeth together, Steve playfully bumping into Bucky a few times before he spits in the sink. Bucky feels oddly sentimental as he looks from Steve to his own reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t say anything, only waits for his turn to use the sink.

Steve changes into an oversized t-shirt that’s covered with paint stains and throws another one at Bucky’s head. He puts it on quickly and slips out of his pants, the shirt slightly small on Bucky’s frame. When he turns off the light and they slip into bed, it feels a little awkward. Bucky’s slept in his bed before, but suddenly it seems different now that’s he admitted the truth to Steve.

Bucky stares at the back of his head and hopes that Steve is asleep. He’s not, though, and only huffs out a sigh before quietly saying, “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I’m really happy that I met you, right?”

“I do now.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter is the last, thanks for sticking around :")

He times it out just right so that his whole family is away when he goes home to grab things. He’s been staying at Steve’s place more often than not, and then crashing at Natasha and Clint’s for the other days. He’s barely been home in two weeks. Part of him feels guilty, but the other part of him is relieved to not have to come home. He misses his sisters, and sometimes even his parents, but not enough to want to drown himself in the feelings he gets when he’s at home for longer than a few hours.

He means to be in and out, only to grab a few things. Coming into the apartment when no one is there is almost worst somehow, since he feels a little like he’s breaking into his own home. Everything is mostly the same, and yet the small changes to the place seem to make Bucky feel like he’s been gone for years. A new pair of sneakers at the door, a magnet added to the collection on the fridge, a blanket draped over the side of the couch that he’s never seen before.

He’s digging through his closet when someone clears their throat from behind him.

It’s his mother, face blank as she looks Bucky up and down. He’s not wearing a hat, his hair finally grown out enough to push behind his ears. His outfit is one that Steve had picked out for him, and that Bucky only wears in the same exact way that Steve had styled it originally. He feels slightly embarrassed in the outfit now, though, with his mother’s eyes on him like that.

“Where have you been?” she asks, voice hurt.

Bucky swallows thickly and tries to think of a good excuse. Admittedly, he’s out of practice. “I got a second job,” he says, which isn’t technically a lie. “I’m a sever at this nice place in Manhattan. It’s really long nights, though, so it’s easier just to stay at friends’ houses.”

“Why do you need two jobs?”

“You know I don’t want for you and dad to have to pay all my tuition.”

She purses her lips then, and Bucky wishes that he would’ve just told her truth. Slowly, she walks over to Bucky’s desk in the corner of the room and pulls out a thick, opened envelope and holds it out for Bucky to take. It’s from the school, and he can’t help but to slip the paper out.

He’s accepted, and yet he doesn’t feel like celebrating.

“When were you planning on telling us?”

Bucky swallows thickly. “I was going to, I swear. I just – I wasn’t sure if was even going to get in.”

“An art school? You’re just going to throw away everything you’ve worked for?”

“I never wanted to do law. You know that dad pressured me,” he tries to explain, but he knows he’s raising his voice. He’s upset, but only because she’s upset at him for only wanting to do what he thinks is right. “This is what I want.”

“ _You_ made that decision, James,” she tells him sternly. “Your father did not force you to do pre-law. You always try to make yourself out to be the victim.”

Bucky hasn’t been called James in weeks, and something about it makes him feels ten times worse. “I’m not doing it anymore. I’m sorry, but I’m not. And I’m moving out, as soon as I can find somewhere to live.”

She’s almost crying, but Bucky refuses to give in. He stands defiantly in front of her, clutching his acceptance letter and trying to tell himself this is the right thing for himself. He wants to collapse under the pressure of it still. He’s hurting his mother, and he’ll hurt his father, and he’ll ruin his future, even if it’s what he wants.

“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore,” she says quietly.

Bucky wishes he could tell her who he is now. He wishes that he could hug her and try to untangle all the events of the past few months for her. He wants to come out and tell her about work, and about his three sketchbooks full of architectural sketches, and about Steve. He wishes he could, but he knows he can’t, and that he’s never really been able to with her.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. He’s not, though, and he’s sure that she knows that.

“I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

He quickly grabs his bag and then heads for the door. “You won’t have to deal with me much sooner.”

***

Steve is so engrossed in his work that he barely even hears his phone ringing.

He’s been working for a few hours now. He would’ve quit sooner, but Bucky said he would swing by and check out some of his pieces he’s been working on for the past few weeks. He’s been to Steve’s studio a few times before, and Steve can admit that he likes the way that Bucky looks at his art. He hadn’t heard from him all night, though, and his last few messages hadn’t been replied to since yesterday before he had gone to his parent’s apartment to grab some things.

Ever since Bucky’s come out, though, Steve’s been scared that he is distancing himself from Steve. He shouldn’t feel that way, especially after everything Bucky has said to him, but he does. When Steve still thought Bucky was straight, it was easier to chalk up their missed connection to that. Now, it’s harder knowing that Bucky is into guys but not into Steve.

Steve knows he shouldn’t be worried, but he it’s not like Bucky to not respond, regardless of their situation.

After the first few rings of his phone, though, it finally dawns on him what that noise could be. He carefully switches his paint brush to his left hand and then answers his phone with his right, putting it against his ear and shoulder.

“Hey, Steve!” Bucky shouts into the phone, startling Steve for a few seconds. “I came! I know I was supposed to be here earlier but I got, uh, _distracted_. Come let me in.”

Steve puts down his paintbrush and starts to head for the door. “Kinda late. Did you just get off?” It’s nearly midnight, and Bucky sounds drunk.

“No, no,” Bucky assures him. “I got off at eight – ” He voice cuts off as he _actually_ giggles.

He doesn’t offer any more information, and Steve is scared to inquire further, so he just keeps Bucky on the line as he heads down the steps and then pushes open the door to the outside. Bucky is leaning again the wall, phone up to his ears, and his head titled back onto the wall. He’s smiling, and it takes a few seconds for him to realize Steve is there.

“You coming up?”

Bucky blinks and then answers through the phone, “If you’ll have me.”

He’s sweet, and a part of Steve wants to touch Bucky’s fluffy, messy hair and laugh at the way he’s stumbling up the stairs. It’s not like Bucky, though, to get drunk. It’s a Tuesday night and he rarely gets drunk to begin with. For him to come find Steve after makes him even more worried.

When they get back to the studio, Bucky slumps into the metal folding chair and crosses his arms over his chest. He smiles at Steve when he raises an eyebrow in his direction.

“Are you okay, Bucky?”

Bucky laughs. “I’m doing great, pal.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” Bucky says. “I had some wine with a guy from work after my shift. He’s a chef and they let him have free drinks after his shift, and well…”

It does explain why Bucky would already be drunk, but it doesn’t explain him washing up at Steve’s studio at midnight.

“Do you want to get back to my apartment. You can stay the night, obviously.”

Bucky shrugs, all sloppy. He licks his lips so that they’re shiny and red, and Steve is distracted for a few seconds. “Whatever. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s bittersweet to hear. Steve turns around and starts to rummage with his paint, getting ready to leave. He wants to hear Bucky say things like that, but not when he’s drunk and probably doesn’t mean it.

Steve still has his back to him when Bucky says, “I lost my virginity tonight.”

When Steve whips around, Bucky is smirking up at the ceiling. “ _What_?”

“With the guy from work. We went back to his apartment and we just – ” Bucky laughs again, actually meeting Steve’s eyes when he says, “He fucked me.” 

Steve feels like he can barely think. He desperately wants to ask if the other guy was drunk too, or if it was just Bucky, but he’s so scared of the answer. He can’t bear the thought of Bucky getting used like that. It was his first time, and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever high Bucky is still on, but it’s distressing.

“I didn’t even know you were still a virgin,” Steve finally says. It’s stupid, and not necessary, but he had always assumed there had been some girl in high school he had lost it to back in Indiana. It’s none of his business either, and he really had no reason to have known anyways.

Bucky snorts. “I wasn’t waiting for marriage, that’s for sure. I mean, you were my fucking first kiss and I was twenty-one. It’s embarrassing, so I don’t tell people about it obviously. I felt like there was something wrong with me.”

Steve’s stomach drops when he hears this. “Bucky, there’s nothing wrong with you, I promise.”

The giddy happiness from before seems to dissipate as he stares past Bucky with hard look on his face. “You were drunk when you kissed me, and he was drunk when he fucked me so. Maybe no one wants me sober.”

“That’s not true, Bucky,” Steve tells him instantly. “I swear that’s not fucking true.”

Bucky’s lips curl up into a smirk and he shrugs. “Sure.”

There a million things that Steve needs to say, almost all of them apologies, but none of them manage to fall out of his mouth. All he gets out is a weak, “Let’s get out of here.”

He packs away his things with shaky hands, hoping that Bucky is still too drunk to notice or care. He feels like he’s going to be sick, and he doesn’t know what to say that will make things better.

The last thing he wanted to do was for Bucky to feel like there was something wrong with him. It seems absurdly wrong after how long Steve’s spent pining over him. It’s been months of agonizing over every glance and every touch, and Bucky somehow thinks that Steve doesn’t want to touch him unless he’s drunk.

They’re slumped on the half-empty subway when the anger finally hits Steve. He wants to find the guy who slept with Bucky and punch him. He realizes, though, that he should be punching himself too. He’s the other half of the equation.

It only makes him feel sick again.

Bucky seems to have sobered up a little once Steve is unlocking the door to his apartment. He still has trouble untying his shoelaces, and Steve wants to hold a hand to his forearm to steady him, but he’s too scared to reach out. He feels like maybe he’ll burn Bucky with every touch.

Once his shoes are off, Steve gestures for Bucky to sit on the couch while he goes to grab him a water bottle from the fridge. When he comes back with it, though, Bucky is sitting with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Steve sits down next to him and puts an arm around him. “It’s okay, Buck,” he tells him quietly as he rubs Bucky’s back with his palm.

Bucky surprisingly leans into the touch, burying his face into Steve’s shoulder. Steve only holds him closer. They stay like that for a few very long minutes. Steve wishes he could go back in time and have never lied to Bucky. He hadn’t even been drunk anymore, not really. He had been scared, and he hadn’t known how to deal with that burning rejection after being so sure that Bucky was into him.

“I’m fucking everything up,” Bucky tells him, voice tight and choked. “I just – “

Steve tries to breathe evenly as he brings his hand up to cradle the back of Bucky’s head, his hair soft under his touch.

“I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m just fucking things up with you and – “

“No, you’re not. Bucky, when I kissed you, I never meant for you to feel this way. I’m sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but the grip he has on Steve’s shirt tightens and his head burrows a little further into Steve’s neck. They stay like that for a while. When Bucky calms down enough to finally break apart, Steve’s shirt is wet and Bucky’s eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, his cheeks still wet.

He gives Steve a long look before asking, “Can we go to bed?”

The millions of questions in Steve’s head go unanswered as he nods. He knows Bucky’s tired and most likely needs some sleep to feel better, but he also feels like he’s leaving things unfinished. He forces himself to turn off the light and fall into bed with Bucky.

Once the lights are off, and the two of them are under the covers, Steve can’t help but to carefully pat around until he finds Bucky’s hand and entwines his fingers. He’s squeezes his hand reassuringly, and is surprised when Bucky squeezes it back.

It takes a long time for Steve to fall asleep, and when he finally does, he wakes up multiple times in the middle of the night. At one point, he blearily wakes up with Bucky tucked into his side. He puts an arm around him and falls back asleep.

***

Steve wakes up again to the morning sunlight streaming in from the window. He blinks blearily until he realizes that Bucky is still right next to him, but he’s already awake, eyes staring darkly at the ceiling above them.

“Hey,” Steve says carefully.

Bucky’s eyes briefly leave the ceiling to flash over in Steve’s direction, but they quickly go back. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Stupid.”

“Why?”

Bucky makes an annoyed noise before covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow. “Because of everything,” he replies. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, Buck,” he tells him. He swallows thickly before continuing. “I’m the one that should be sorry. I didn’t mean for you to think that I would only kiss you if I was drunk. You have to know that’s not true.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Almost his whole face is hidden with his arm, so Steve can’t even try to read what he’s thinking. Steve is almost about to finally spill his guts to Steve, and put everything out on the table, but then Bucky speaks up.

“Yesterday morning my acceptance letter came to my apartment and my mom read it,” he says calmly.

“Shit.” He wants to congratulate Bucky, but he knows that’s not what he wants. “How did she take it?”

There’s too long of a silence. “She wasn’t happy. We fought a little but then I just left. I just spent the rest of the day feeling angry and fucked up about it, and then after work that guy came onto me, and I guess I just wanted to get it over with, you know. And it wasn’t bad or anything, really. I think maybe I should have waited, though.”

“My first time was with a girl in high school,” Steve tells him. “In a cheap hotel, Buck. It was bad. Seriously, there were cockroaches.” Steve can see the smile bloom on Bucky’s face. “But obviously I’ve had better experiences since. Your first time isn’t ever really that important.”

Finally, Bucky moves his arm from his face and looks at Steve. The mournful expression from before has been replaced by a lighter, more embarrassed look. “I still feel stupid about bothering you.”

“Don’t be. You can come to me whenever you need, Buck.”

Bucky lets out an audible breath then. Steve watches him apprehensively, the mood in the room suddenly transformed.

He should see it coming, truthfully, but he doesn’t.

Steve barely even registers the kiss until Bucky is pulling away. Bucky really only touches his lips for a few seconds before his touch is gone, but Steve is quick to put a hand on the side of his face and draw him back in. His hair is soft under his fingers, and his kisses are nervous and unpracticed, but Steve wonders if the relief of their embrace is palpable to Bucky too.

Steve had been so scared that he’d never get another chance to kiss Bucky again.

It’s still Steve, though, who breaks apart to whisper, “Bucky, wait.”

When Steve sits up, Bucky follows him, his hair sleep mused and his eyes wide. He doesn’t say anything, only drops his hands in his laps and tangles his fingers together. He refuses to even make eye contact with Steve.

“You gotta know that I meant it last time and I mean it this time, too,” Steve finally says. “I think you already know but – fuck, Bucky, I just want for you to know that I’m in love with you. When I kissed you, I meant it, and it wasn’t because I was drunk or messing around.”

Steve isn’t sure what kind of a reaction he’s expecting from Bucky, but he doesn’t do much of anything. He can see the way his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything for what feels like whole minutes. This time Steve doesn’t feel devastated by the rejection, though. He’s never been sure where he stood with Bucky after they kissed. It felt so certain, and they have so many moments, but he’s always been too scared to confront the reality of it. He loves Steve, and it feels more like a fact now instead of feeling like a curse when he first started to realize it.

“I don’t know what I can give you,” Bucky finally says softly. “I’ve never even been in a relationship. I don’t know how this works, and I just feel like…I wouldn’t be enough.”

It hurts a little, like it always does when Bucky says things about himself. He’s so quick to put himself down.

“I’m not asking for anything, and I don’t want to pressure you, either. I just wanted for you to know.”

Unexpectedly, Bucky reaches out and takes ahold of Steve’s hand. His touch is gentle, and it already feels like an apology before he opens his mouth. “I want it, I do. I just – I’m not sure right now. I’m sorry.”

Steve breathes out a huff of air. “Okay,” he says softly, more to himself. “Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to apologize.” After a few seconds, when Bucky doesn’t take his hand away, Steve then asks, “Did you want to leave?”

“Can we make some breakfast?”

His hopeful, forgiving eyes are enough for Steve to nod his head with a smile on his face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay i know it's been so long but i knew i had to finish this fic and i finally have the energy to do it. originally, i had planned for this chapter to be the last but there was just too much to be written. so next chapter is really the last one. i know it's super angsty right now okay, but i promise there is a happy ending in sight!!

Things go on.

The first few days are awkward, and Bucky isn’t sure that it’ll ever be the same again, but at least Steve hasn’t given up on him. They still hang out, even if it’s a little stilted, and still make plans, and still always end up chasing each other in circles. Yet, nothing happens.

Natasha and Clint offer Bucky the empty bedroom in their apartment, and Bucky cries a little bit about it when Natasha first mentions it to him at work. When it comes time to move all his things out of his parents’ house, he doesn’t have very many belongings left. Steve has the day off and offers to help Bucky, and it takes a while for Bucky to come around to the idea. He doesn’t want for Steve to see that part of his life, and to see how he acts around his parents and his siblings, but he also thinks it would be nice to have Steve there.

He hasn’t even talked to his parents about when he’d be moving out his things. He hadn’t talked to his mother since  he had first told her, and had left all her phone calls unanswered, only to have to make excuses up to Rebecca as to why he’s ignoring everyone.

On a Saturday afternoon, Steve and Bucky take the subway over with two empty suitcases of Steve’s. Bucky is thrumming with nervousness the entire ride there, and has to keep wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Once they arrive, Bucky almost feels like he should knock on the door. It hasn’t felt like his home in a while. He hopes that no one is home, though, so he slips the key into the lock, and resolutely decides to leave the key on the kitchen counter afterwards. When he pushes the door open, though, it’s clear that everyone is home, just as Bucky had suspected for a Saturday.

He tries to be quiet as he walks through the living room with Steve behind him. Right before they can head down the hall to his bedroom, they hear a firm voice behind them, “James.”

The two of them halt, and Bucky slowly turns around, dreading the proceeding. It’s his father, arms crossed over his chest. His face is blank, but Bucky can see the brimming anger. He hates that Steve is with him, and he regrets even letting him come along now. He should’ve waited until Sunday morning or –

“We’re just sitting down for lunch,” he says calmly. “Did the two of you want to join us?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably, the suitcase suddenly heavier than it was. He feels stupid standing like he is, unannounced with Steve at his heels. He doesn’t want to accept the invitation, but he also doesn’t want to start any issues, either. Slowly, after catching Steve’s eye and making sure he’s okay with it, Bucky clears his throat and says, “Sure.”

His father nods and turns to go back to the kitchen. Placing the suitcase down, Bucky walks ahead of Steve, too scared to meet his eyes again. The girls are strangely quiet until Bucky sheepishly walks into the kitchen, only to met with their excited screaming as they leap off their chairs to come and hug him. Bucky’s been trying so hard to choke down how much he’s missed being home, and he has to keep himself from crying as he hugs them both, and then Rebecca, who he still sees occasionally when she drops by the bookstore.

His mother doesn’t hug him, nor his father, but he expects as much. He’s surprised enough by the invitation to eat. His father pulls up two chairs from one of the bedrooms, and Steve and Bucky squeeze beside the girls. The table is already set with a salad and some fruit, and his mother starts to serve everyone some when Bucky’s father start to speak, “Steve, how have you been recently?”

Bucky’s surprised to realize that his father must recognize and remember Steve from church.

“I’ve been good, and you?” Steve says hesitantly, eyes cutting to Bucky’s halfway through the sentence.

“Fine,” his father responds. “And your art, how is that going?”

“It’s good, too.” This time, Steve doesn’t look over to Bucky.

“I’m sure that James has been being a good guest, I hope.”

“He always is.”

Bucky is suddenly jolted with the realization that his father must talk to Steve at church, and maybe even his mother, as well. It hurts a little, like he was betrayed. When Steve finally meets his gaze, it’s clear that he’s trying to apologize.

When his father speaks again, he looks to Bucky. “Your mother said that you have a second job.”

Bucky nods stiffly. He’s still unsure of what his mother has said to him, but there is no way that he knows of his plans to stop perusing his pre-law degree. There would be no way he’d be treating him so well if he knew.

They spend the rest of the meal talking civilly. The girls tell Bucky everything that he’s missed, and Bucky wonders if he’s ensuring that he’ll never be able to do this again. He enjoys it while he can, feeling a little numb as he smiles along to their stories. Steve is quiet next to him, but is sweet to the girls when they ask him questions.

When they finally start to clear the table, Bucky is antsy to get to his things and finally leave before he changes his mind. Steve has to ask to help with the dishes, and Bucky’s father is quick to offer to help him. Bucky wants to drag him away, but he forces himself to walk back towards his room with the suitcases he brought.

His room has been cleaned since he was last in it. Laundry he had left on the ground or the bed has been picked up, and the papers on the desk organized, and the garbage in the corner taken out. He runs a nervous hand through his hair and then zips open a bag to start cramming things into it.

When someone walks into the room, Bucky expects it to be Steve, but instead it’s his mother, looking pensive as she scans the work he’s made in packing. “It was good to have you back today,” she says to him. “We’ve all missed you.”

Bucky rubs his face, frustrated. He doesn’t want to feel guilty about this. “I’m doing what I think is best for myself,” he says finally, going back to stuffing clothes into one of the suitcases.

“You have to know how hard this is for me and your father.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “It’s been hard for me too.”

“You know you can still stay,” she says. “We can figure this out.”

“And what? Go back to before and do a bunch of shit I don’t want to do?”

“Your father could eventually come around to you changing majors.”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky says quietly. He angrily sorts through a pile of papers on his desk, but he can’t even focus on what any of them are. “I don’t think he’s going to come around to me being gay, either.”

His mother is quiet for too long, and Bucky doesn’t want to look up to see her face, but he does. He meets her blank stare and has never felt so sure of his admission. “You mean it?” she asks quietly. It’s desperate, Bucky realizes.

He stiffly nods his head.

Her eyes float up to the ceiling and she purses her lips. It’s enough. He swallows thickly before going back to packing. A part of him wishes he would’ve never told her. It feels good, though, to finally admit it. She’s always had big dreams of him becoming a lawyer, meeting some beautiful women and starting a family with her. For a long time, Bucky thought that was his future, too. Ever since he realized that wasn’t the case, he’s been aching with the knowledge of eventual disappointment.

So, maybe this is the disappointment he’s been dreading, for himself, for his mother, for the people in his life. But he’s said it, finally.

She remains the way she is for a long minute, but then she stiffly walks forward to help put some random things into Bucky’s bag. Bucky clutches the papers he’s holding and watches her numbly. A tear rolls down her cheek, and Bucky feels even worse than before. He wants to apologize, but he knows he can’t, and that he shouldn’t have to. The sentiment doesn’t make him feel any better but he is surprised when his mother pulls him into a hug.

They rarely hug, and it feels strange at first, but Bucky feels his eyes start to well with tears. He stares up at the ceiling, refusing to cry in front of her. She puts a hand on the back of his head and says, “I love you, James.”

Bucky closes his eyes and tucks his chin into her shoulder. He’s been so scared for so long, but this is enough for now.

When they pull apart, she smiles sadly at him and then zips up the suitcases. Bucky takes one of them and starts to head for the living room. He’s startled, though, when he finds his father outside his door, face blank as he takes Bucky in. He feels like he can’t breathe under the scrutinizing gaze. He must’ve overheard everything.

He doesn’t have the urge to apologize to his father. Instead, he stares back at him for a few seconds and then pushes past him, suitcase in hand. In the living room, Steve is talking to the girls, Rebecca on the couch smiling at them. When he looks up and catches Bucky walking in, his smile falters, clearly worried.

Bucky’s mother brings in the other suitcase, and Bucky gets hugs from everyone but his father. At the door, before he leaves, his father does put a hand on his shoulder and leans in close. Quietly, meant only for him but Steve is too close and must hear it when he says, “You’re not welcome back.”

It guts Bucky, practically sends him over the edge with how stressful the whole visit has been. He tightens his jaw and stares back at him for a few seconds before nodding and then reaching into his pocket and pulling out the key to the apartment. He wordless holds it out to his father, who takes it after a few seconds.

Bucky says goodbye one last time to the rest of the room before he and Steve drag the suitcases out of the apartment. When the door closes, Bucky walks a few steps before he halts, face wet with tears.

Steve pushes him into a tight hug. Bucky’s not sure how long they stand like that. He tries not to cry anymore, but it doesn’t stop the tears. Eventually, Bucky pulls apart and turns away to wipe the tears off his cheeks with the back of his arm.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Bucky says quietly, voice raw.

Steve nods. “Of course, Buck.”

They ride the subway in silence, Steve swaying into Bucky with every turn. The touch makes him feel less alone. When they get to Natasha and Clint’s apartment, his new home, Bucky pulls out the key that Natasha had given him the other day and lets himself into the building. He still knocks when he gets to the door,  hesitant to just walk right in.

Natasha is there when he opens the door. She’s leaning against the wall with a smirk on her face, but it fades when she actually looks at them. Clint stumbles into the hallway too then, yelling, “Welcome home!” Bucky fakes a tight smile and thanks him before awkwardly motioning over to his bedroom. He silently drags his things into the room.

It’s empty, except for the mattress that Bucky had ordered online and had sent to the apartment in a box. It’s still where he left it the other day, pushed against the wall with a package of unopened sheets and a pillow sitting on top of it. He drops his suitcases on the ground and remembers that this is all he has. It’s sad for a few moments, but he knows this isn’t so bad. Really, this is exactly what he’s wanted.

From the open door, he can hear quiet murmurings, and suspects that Steve is explaining the situation to Natasha and Clint. He stays where he is for too long, and isn’t surprised when someone walks into the room. It’s Natasha. She’s holding a small, wrapped gift in her hands, and she thrusts it in Bucky’s direction.

“It’s a housewarming gift,” she tells him.

It’s obvious what it is, but Bucky carefully tears away the wrapping paper to find a copy of Dorian Gray. It’s one of the first books that Natasha had him read. When she had found out that he never had read it, she thought it was a tragedy. Now, he looks at the hardback book and smiles.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I’ll just put it on my bookshelf.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we should probably go to IKEA soon. This place looks pretty sad.”

Clint peaks his head into the doorway and goes, “IKEA? Are we planning a trip? You know I fucking love that place.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re banned from the one in Brooklyn, Clint,” Natasha says, cocking her hips.

Steve is next to enter, and he leans against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, Clint, you’re definitely banned from that IKEA.”

“You knock over one display of stuffed animals and they just kick you out,” Clint says mournfully.

“Yeah, pretty sure you jumped into the container and it broke open.”

It’s nice to laugh with all of them. Bucky’s starting to get a headache from the crying and he still feels like he might break down at any moment, but he laughs with his friends, and his new roommates, and tries to remember that this is only the start to a better life.  

“For now, though,” Natasha starts, “I was thinking that we have a movie marathon and order a bunch of pizzas tonight to celebrate your first night here.”

Bucky realizes that all three of them are looking at him, waiting for his response. It means a lot to him that they all care for him like this, but he’s not sure how to say it out loud. Instead, he nods his head and smiles shyly.

They spend the rest of the night watching the Harry Potter movies and eating their pizza. As usual, Clint eventually breaks out a joint and the four of them pass it around. It makes Bucky feel like he can breathe a little better once his head stops working so hard. Once they’ve hit the middle of the Prisoner of Azkaban, Steve is slumped into Bucky, the two of them sharing a blanket. By the end of the movie, he’s fast asleep, soft breaths in Bucky’s ear. Bucky’s heart clenches when he thinks about it. He wants to hold his hand, and kiss him goodnight, and drag him back to his bedroom and share his bed with him.

Natasha is the one who stops the Order of the Phoenix and flicks on the lights, making Clint jolt awake and roll off the couch. Bucky gently shakes Steve awake, and he blinks a few times at Bucky with a confused expression on his face. Bucky can’t help to melt at the his mused hair and his bleary eyes and the little noise he makes when he sits up.

“You’re staying the night, right, Steve?” Natasha asks, collecting the garbage on the coffee table.

“Mm, yeah,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair and yawning.

Bucky’s heart stutters with the desire to ask him to come sleep in his bedroom with him, but he keeps it to himself. He doesn’t exactly think it’s fair that he couldn’t even commit to anything serious with Steve but wants to share the bed with him. It’s stupid, he knows it, because he’s shared the bed with Steve too many times to count, and it was never like that before.

Steve doesn’t ask, though, and he doesn’t trail after Bucky into his bedroom after they brush their teeth side by side in the bathroom. Instead, he quietly says goodnight to Bucky before going to the living room. Bucky makes quick work of putting on his sheets and digging through a suitcase for something to wear to bed. Natasha knocks on his door and brings him a folded comforter.

“You gonna be okay?” she asks him.

Bucky waits a few seconds to think about it, and then nods. “Eventually,” he says with a small smile.

“Everyone is going to disappoint their parents at some time, and it fucking sucks, but sometimes it’s for the best,” she says, and he knows that she’s speaking from experience. “They might not always be angry at you, Bucky, and if they are, they aren’t worth it.”

Bucky nods stiffly, his throat feeling tight when he thinks about the look in his father’s eyes. Distantly, he wonders when he’ll be able to see the girls again.

Natasha looks around the room once more before asking, “Do you need anything else.”

“No,” he chokes out. Then, before she leaves, he says, “Thank you, Natasha. For everything.”

She waves her hand, like it’s nothing, and then smiles and wishes him goodnight.

He tries his hardest to sleep, but he can’t get his brain to shut up. After a few hours of tossing and turning, he gets up from his bed and slowly makes his way to the kitchen, silently passing through the living room. He’s surprised, though, to find that the kitchen lights are already on, and Steve is getting water from the filter in the fridge. When he turns to find Bucky standing in front of him, he barely seems surprised.

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly.

“Can’t sleep?”

Bucky snorts through his nose. “Yeah right.”

He nods grimly.

They stay silent for a minutes, the two of them just standing across from each other. Bucky realizes then that it feels so much like that night months ago at Natasha’s birthday party. Bucky still remembers how nervous he had been all night, only to feel such relief when he finally started to feel comfortable and found out that Steve wasn’t just ignoring him. He had spent months agonizing over their kiss in this very kitchen, heart hammering in his chest just at the memory.

Now, standing across from him, it feels like a whole different world. Bucky feels like he wouldn’t even be able to recognize his old self.

“Can I ask you something?”

Steve nods.

“When did you start talking to my parents at church?”

He makes a face and looks to the ground. “A few weeks after you stopped going your mom came and found me. She asked me if you were okay and if you were staying with me when you didn’t come home.”

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and swallows thickly.

“She must’ve said something to your dad because they both started to talk to me and mom almost every time we went.” He looks at Bucky when he quietly adds, “I should’ve said something to you, I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head. He had felt a little hurt at first, like maybe Steve had betrayed him, but truthfully, he thinks he understands. It would’ve been harder to sneak around without Steve assuring his parents that he was doing okay, and that he was staying at Steve’s and not living on the streets.

“Did you hear what he said when we were leaving?”

“Yeah.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh, even if it’s not funny. “I came out to my mom. I didn’t realize he was standing right outside the door.”

“Fuck,” Steve says. “What did your mom say?”

“She was…it wasn’t what she wanted hear, but she hugged me and said she loved me, so.”

“That’s something.”

And, sure, it’s something other than his father’s reaction, but it’s not what Steve had. His mother hadn’t skipped a beat. Bucky thinks of Steve talking about how she’ll tease him about his crushes. He doesn’t know how it feels to feel so rejected, and even worse, by someone who he’s never even really liked. He knows he doesn’t owe his father anything, but there’s still a part of him that wants to make him proud and wants for him to love him the same way he did when he was younger.

Bucky rubs his face and sighs. “Everything is so fucked up right now.”

They stand in silence again, the hum of the refrigerator loud in Bucky’s ears. He wants to step forward and kiss Steve, like maybe it will at least fix one issue. He thinks of how easy it would be to forget about everything if he was wrapped up in Steve.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said that morning after you came to my studio,” Steve says abruptly.

Bucky feels his face grow hot just at the mention of that night and the following morning.

“You said that you didn’t think you were enough, and I think that’s wrong. I can’t fix the way you think of yourself, but I want for you to know that you’re more than enough to me. And I think Clint and Natasha feel the same way, and I think Rebecca does too. I think – Bucky, you’re enough.”

Steve is right; he can’t fix the way that Bucky thinks of himself, but what he says strikes right through Bucky. And maybe he’ll never be able to feel like he is enough, but in that moment, with the sincerity in Steve’s eyes, Bucky wants to believe that he’s right, and that he is enough.

He pulls Steve into a hug because it’s the closest thing he can get to a kiss. It feels good to be back in his arms again. There is no reason to separate right away, so they stay as they are for as long as they need, only to eventually move apart when Bucky takes his hand and leads him back to his bedroom. Steve makes no rejections, and slips under the covers next to Bucky.

Eventually, they sleep.


End file.
